


Escapist

by llochro



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Family Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:02:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 57,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28286673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/llochro/pseuds/llochro
Summary: "Do you really have to run away?" he asks me as he tightens his grip on my hand.It takes me by surprise because he is no longer yelling. He is just staring, like he's searching for the rawness and vulnerability of my soul. Sincerity greets me in his eyes. A bit of sadness is lurking around him. I look at our hands then his face, and after that I say, "Yes."
Relationships: Yuri Plisetsky/Original Character(s)
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

It's such a sad thing to wake up and realize how empty you are, especially when you have no idea as to why you'd even feel like that. It's like someone or something is clinging onto you, but no matter how hard you look around for that person or thing you just can't see whoever or whatever is there.

This emptiness has been with me for as long as I can remember. Although it's not always with me, it is mostly. With all honesty, this feeling only haunts me here–at home. Isn't that strange, though?

I get off of my bed and make it. I stare at it for a little while, wondering if it will still be the same bed I'm going to sleep in a few years from now. I'm tired of this room, of this house, of this place.

I think of running away a lot. I think of leaving this place, trying to start a life of my own in hopes of finally being able to feel free from everything and anything. This place does not guarantee me of what I want. As long as I'm here with them, I will only feel like I can never be someone, and I will always be nothing but plain Austra–the girl with a single parent, and a primadonna of a sister.

I don't really hate my mom, but there are times when I just wanna be mad at her. She observes favoritism, I can tell. I really wish that she can love me the way she loves Leslie because I am sick of trying to understand why I should always forgive Leslie, and why I should always clean up her mess.

Leslie is my younger sister. Although she's younger, she has lived more of her life than I have lived mine. She's popular, outgoing, fun, beautiful, and brave. She gets what she wants. She's the walking sun, and I'm nothing but the hiding moon.

I will always be the girl who is just there, _just there_. Never the one with tons of friends. Never the one with a list of exes or a line of admirers. Never the one who's brave enough to break some rules just to have her way. Never the one who's interesting enough. Never the one any person would prefer to hang out with over her sister.

That's me. Austra, the girl who's always around but never really present.

"Hey, Aus! Hurry up and make some breakfast already! It's your turn!" I hear my sister call me from the living room. I bet she's just watching TV, bored and hungry like she always is at home.

"It's still early!" I answer back.

"I don't care! I'm hungry!"

"Will you two keep it down? It's too early in the morning!" My mom joins the shouting-from-the-other-room party with a slightly annoyed tone in her voice.

"See? Even Mom thinks it's still early!"

"Aus, just hurry up and make some breakfast!" Mom suddenly goes against me.

"Thanks for siding with me, Mom," I whisper to myself. I roll my eyes then shake my head, accepting the usual even though I sometimes wish for it to change.

I clean my room a bit before heading to the kitchen.

Since my morning didn't really have a good start because of precious Leslie, I hereby reward her with an imperfect sunny side up egg. I am a firm believer that one must not mess with the cook.

Once I'm done, I call everyone to the table. I give them their shares then take my seat. Leslie gives me a questioning look.

"Why is my egg the only one that looks like you didn't bother enough to maintain its yolk in the best state properly?"

"Why don't you just eat it? You wanted me to cook. There's your food. You didn't tell me that it had to be perfect."

"Cook me another one."

"Leslie, we can't waste food. We're not that rich nor do we have enough money," I remind her.

"Then let's exchange."

"No."

"You did this on purpose!"

"Just let her have it," Mom says as she gives me a look. "If you had just done your job properly then this argument of yours wouldn't have taken place."

"Seriously? You're siding with her?"

"Just give it already."

I grunt as I shove my plate to Leslie's side of the table. My sister gives me a triumphant smile before taking it. "Thank you," she says with a sweet tone.

"You're never welcome," I say as I take her plate.

It would be nice if I could be Leslie for a day. I mean, everyone likes her. She has everyone wrapped around her finger. I don't know what that's like. If only...

"Today's Saturday, right?" Mom asks. Leslie and I nod our heads.

"So Aus is going to work later. What about you, Leslie?"

My sister and I have to take part-time jobs just to be able to help our mother pay our bills, and also in order for us to save some money for ourselves.

"I'm sick. I have a fever."

I fake a cough before asking her about what she said. "You sure? You're pretty evil today, as usual."

She glares at me, saying, "You're annoying today, as usual."

After eating, I take all the plates, wash the dishes, wipe the table clean, take a shower, dry my hair, wear my clothes, take my bag then go outside.

I jog around at first, hoping that the stress of the beginning of the day can leave me alone. It's my way of taking my mind off of things that are poisonous to me. It's my way of calming myself down.

As I go around the neighborhood, I get past a man whose eyes look as though anger has braced them. He has this grumpy expression on his face, and quite a noticeable presence.

He shakes his head then kicks whatever he can kick around.

I ignore the man and just continue jogging. The wind hits my face, and my hair starts to act as though it's a flag on a flagpole. This makes me feel as though freedom has welcomed me. It's the feeling I yearn for the most.

I raise my left hand, about to look at my wristwatch just to know what time it is. I realize that I forgot to wear it.

I immediately stop jogging. I look for anyone around. I remember the man I passed by. I shrug the idea of approaching him, since he looks pissed. I notice an old man wearing a polo shirt and a pair of slacks. He catches me staring and smiles. I give him a smile, as well, then head to where he is.

"Sir, do you know what time it is?"

"Why? Am I supposed to do something right now?"

"No, Sir," I let out a fake chuckle, "I was asking if you know the time."

"Oh," he scratches his almost bald head. "I don't know, dear. I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine. Thank you." I tell him before approaching the grumpy guy I saw a while ago who happens to still be around.

"Hey," I greet him.

He doesn't notice me at all. He is still looking at the ground with his hands inside his hoodie's pockets.

"That old hag thinks she's so great," he mutters to himself. "Tsk."

I tap him on his shoulder. He turns his head and looks at me with his blue-green eyes glaring at my face while his blonde hair sways against the breeze. "Huh?"

"I'm sorry. I was just wondering if you know what time it is. I forgot my wristwatch and I have nothing that can tell me. I might get late for work and-"

"The old man over there is around," he points to the man I talked to a while ago.

"I already asked him. He's the same."

"Don't you have to be more aware of your time? Geez." He takes his phone out and looks at it. Once he tells me what time it is already, I thank him then go ahead of him.

I wouldn't have approached him if I had any other options. He didn't have to be like that.

I head to work. As I get there, I see a beautiful woman, who's probably old, complaining to her companion. In fact, she looks as though she's scolding the person.

I go to the staff room and put my bag in my locker. I tie my hair and wipe the sweat off of my face. I head over to the desk where I am usually at. I stand there, talking to customers who'd like to skate and giving them the skating shoes or whatever they call them.

Just a few feet away is the lady I saw. She stares at the entrance of the building. Perhaps she's waiting for someone. Whoever it is, that person seems to be in for a great scolding.


	2. Chapter 2

The grumpy guy I saw walks in, and the lady walks towards him as she gives him spiteful words. He only takes her words without answering back. He looks at her with a bit of anger, but he is rather calm. He takes a deep breath then sighs.

"I'm sorry, okay?" he says. His apology doesn't sound sincere, but his face makes it look as though it is.

He walks to where I am, looks at me and doesn't act like he recognizes me. In fact, he treats me as nothing but an employee. His gaze is intense and intimidating, and his attitude isn't helping at all. For someone who hasn't gotten to know him yet, I sure feel like I do not have to get to know him just to get an idea as to what kind of person he is. I almost want to go away from him. He seems like trouble.

"I need ice skates," he tells me as he removes his hoodie. He's wearing a black shirt underneath. After removing the hoodie, he glares at me. "Hello? Ice skates? Didn't you hear me?"

"Sorry. Um, size?"

"You should have known my size by now."

"Um, no. That was a different person. Emily and I changed shifts so-"

He slams his hand to the surface of the desk. "Look, I asked for ice skates, not anything about you."

The lady comes over, and, after a few minutes, so does a man wearing a hat and a coat. "What's taking you so long, Yuri, Lilia?" asks the man.

If I guess it correctly, Lilia is the woman and Yuri is Mr. Grumpy over here.

"This girl," Yuri says.

"I'm sorry, Sir," I whisper, even though he can barely hear me.

"Young lady, would you please hurry it up?"

"I'm sorry."

Lilia shakes her head before going away with the man with a hat. It's as if I made everything worse. Is she Yuri's mother? They both have the grumpy attitude. I won't be surprised if Yuri starts calling her, "Mom."

One thing that I noticed about Lilia, besides her fancy clothes, is her makeup. There's this obvious soft brownish red shade of powder on her cheeks which is really weird. It looks like she used a blush-on as a highlighter. Obviously. Although I'm not wearing any makeup at all—since I can't really spend my money so carelessly, I have always wanted to try and put some on. Unlike Leslie, I save up.

Leslie has her own stash of makeup. She does not want anyone at home touching any of it. I once used her bronzer while Mom used her nude lipstick. She was so irritated, and she even gave us a lecture on why we shouldn't use anyone else's makeup. She went on about germs, breakouts, and even the prices of her stuff. It amazes me how she can buy high-end makeup despite our financial condition. Mom doesn't seem to talk to her about it even though she should. I am actually surprised that Mom encourages Leslie to buy more if she could. She'd even buy something for her. During times like that, I can't help but silence the very thought I've always wanted to ask Mom: _"What about me?"_

The short-tempered blonde dude stares at me. He raises his eyebrows and looks at me as though I'm stupid. I assist him for a while before he heads to the rink. He didn't even thank me. I guess I did expect him to at least know how to thank someone.

Time passes by before I see him again. He's quiet and calm. I notice that he is finally wearing his hoodie. I stare into his eyes, taking note of how captivating they are although they look like they are full of anger. They are the eyes of a predator–always ready and prepared for a prey, but never ready and/or prepared to attack.

Just then, he makes a sour face. He probably thought of something that he doesn't like. He doesn't give me a look and just stares at the ground, probably thinking of something important.

A customer approaches me.

"Where's Emily?"

"We changed shifts, Sir."

"What? Why?”

I shrug my shoulders, since I don't really have anything to say to him. He lets out a sigh and scratches the back of his head, saying, "No reason for me to go here during this time then."

The remark doesn't hurt me, but it's enough to make me feel unimportant. However, I refrain myself from showing any evidence of being even the slightest bit offended. I smile at him and apologize even though there's nothing for me to apologize about. The man tells me that it's fine then leaves right after. I watch the customer leave as his figure disappears into a distance.

I love how this place looks like the representation of emptiness. The walls and floors are painted white. Everywhere in this place is cold enough to make you want to use a jacket, especially the rink. There are people who are sad, mad, happy. Although there are customers, at the end of the day nothing stays. The rink is still here. It is still cold. It will be abandoned by everyone until the point of the day when the lights are off and there's nobody to make you feel like you're wanted or needed.

Yuri suddenly talks to me. "Are you always that polite? You're being such a slave to everyone."

I'm silent, remembering the words he told me: "Look, I asked for ice skates, not anything about you."

"No. But I have to be," I tell him as I take the ice skates from him once he gives them to me. "Are you going to be a douchebag again just because I said something about myself? Excuse me, Sir."

I take my leave and put the ice skates where they should be put. I pause for a moment and think about Emily. I wonder how she handles people, especially those who are like Grumpy Blonde.

"Doesn't matter," I tell myself. "I just have to work and pay the bills."

I get back to the desk and see him still standing there. He is busy with his phone. Just tapping on the screen repetitively.

The man with a hat approaches him.

"What took you so long, Yakov? I wanna go already."

So that's the name of the old man. Yakov.

Yuri stops what he is doing. He glances at the man, then at me. Just then, he stares at my name tag. "Hey, Austra. The douchebag is going to leave now. Don't PMS next time, okay?" He waves a hand at me.

When he is finally headed to the exit, I overhear his conversation with Yakov.

"What was that about?"

"Nothing that you should care about."

"Do you know that girl?"

"I don't. Wouldn't care enough about her."

What a jerk.

I wait until my shift is over. I head home right after because of not having anywhere to go to in particular. Leslie greets me by asking me to get something from her room for her. I do her her favor, then come back and catch her still sitting in front of the television, lying on the couch while a bag of chips is on the floor.

"Wow, Leslie, you sure have a fever," I say with sarcasm.

"Goddamn it, Aus! It wouldn't kill you to be nice, you know!" she snaps at me out of the blue. She stands up from our lousy red couch and marches towards me. "You're not the only person who matters in this family!"

"What the hell did I even do?" I ask in a loud voice.

"You've been nothing but a bitch since this morning!"

I only give her a blank stare. I don't want to argue or fight with her. It's just pointless.

"Sorry. I'll be in my room," I tell her, lowering my voice as much as possible. I hand her what she asked for, then I take my leave.

Once I'm inside my room, I close the door and lock it. I play the staring game with the cheap blue wallpaper on my walls. My fists are shaking as if I want to do something with them. I am so confused and irritated. I remove my bag and throw it away from where I am, not caring as to where it might end up. I kick everything that's lying on the floor.

I hate this place. I really, really hate it. There's nothing for me here. Everything will always be about and for them. I can't always do my best in trying to shut my own feelings and opinions. I can't always try to understand them. They are not the only living person here. I am, too.

Someday, I'm going to leave this place and work in somewhere certainly far from here like New York or London. I'm going to have a better life and I won't look back. I won't help Mom or Leslie if they ever ask for my help. They never cared enough for me, why should I continue caring?

I seek my bed's comfort and bury my face on my pillow. The tears are coming, and I don't think that I want to stop them. There's this heavy feeling inside my chest. I let it guide me to sleep. I let my tears guide me to sleep.

The next morning, I wake up and prepare myself to leave at such an early time. I make some breakfast for everyone and eat my share. After that, I go outside. I jog around, trying to find my freedom through making a distance away from home. I tie my jet black hair in a ponytail. I pull my navy blue Stitch shirt down.

I'm getting farther and farther from the apartment.

I pass by proud buildings, busy men and women wearing professional clothes, frozen cars in place because of a dumb red light. I pass by a familiar guy wearing the same blue and white themed hoodie and staring at me. He is walking. In the short moment of being close to him, I say, "Hi, douchebag."

What I did was rude. But it felt good. I feel good. I feel like I was able to stand up for myself for yesterday. Though I have to admit that I was only able to do that, since I am not at work. Outside the place I work for, he and I are nothing but the same. There is no hierarchy. There is no employee-customer relationship. There is no reason for me to hold back.

I turn my head just to look at him. He is no longer walking. He is just there, standing and glaring at me. It takes him a moment before looking away and minding his own business which happens to involve his phone. He and I head to different directions.

And still, we end up in the same place with me behind the desk and him just right in front of me. We end up in Emptiness–my new name for my workplace. Lilia and Yakov don't seem to be with him. Perhaps he got here by himself.

He asks for ice skates while looking at his phone. He keeps on tapping the screen. I'm starting to wonder as to what he's doing. Before I turn away from him, he says, "By the way, you dumbass, it's not 'douchebag.' It's 'Yuri.'"

I get a pair of ice skates that's fitting for him. When I hand it to him, I ask him, "Where are your parents? For someone like you, they're quite old."

He stops his staring game with his phone. He looks at me with an "Are you serious?" expression written all over his face. "They're not my parents. They're my instructors or whatever the hell they call them. Man, I didn't expect you to be this dumb," he says as he hides his phone.

"Thank you so much for your kind words, Sir. If you may, can you please leave and give way to other customers?" I answer with sarcasm.

"Whatever. I have a piggy to beat so I'll be going now."

I didn't understand what or who he meant by "piggy." However, it doesn't seem like I have to know about its identity. If anything, what I have to understand and/or know is a plan regarding my leave from home. Once he's left and as I tend to the customers, I can't help but think of it over and over again: _"Someday, I'm going to leave and I won't ever come back here."_

Oh, how I wish for it to happen already.

Someday…


	3. Chapter 3

Dinner is rather silent and unnerving. Mom does not seem like she wants to eat at all, but she is still trying. She is just staring into nothing in particular, as if she is sucked in a world we know nothing of. She looks so occupied by her thoughts, that I feel like nothing can make her attention get back to us. I can't really blame her for that since she just lost her job. She doesn't even want to tell us the reason as to why she got fired.

Although she is quiet, I can tell that being fired is driving her crazy inside. Knowing that we have to make ends meet just to pay the rent, and afford our basic necessities, Mom feels like she has to find a new job immediately, like the I-already-have-a-new-job-tomorrow kind of immediately.

"Leftovers again." Leslie breaks the silence. "It would be nice if we can never ever eat leftovers and always have just-cooked meals."

I look at Mom, silently hoping that she would scold Leslie for being too demanding. Sometimes, I just wait for Mom to snap or even complain at or about Leslie. That barely happens, though. I think that that's pretty unfair, especially regarding my case. When I make mistakes, she is always there to witness me make them, and then reprimand me. It is almost like I never do anything right. Maybe that's why Dad wanted to leave her–because she is such a biased person.

Dad. I miss him so much. He offered to help us with our financial problem, but Mom refused him of that. She thinks that he only wants us to think that he's the good guy, and that he's buying us with his money.

There are times when I just can't help myself from wondering what I'd be like right now if Mom was never able to take me away from him.

I can never ever forget the night he left–the night when I realized how torn Mom is between Leslie and me, the night she made it clear that I am nothing but the other daughter.

I used to be close to Mom, closer than Leslie can ever be. That is why I can't understand why she chose Leslie. I don't get it, and I don't think that I'll ever get it in the future.

"Hey, Aus. One of my friends saw you at work."

"I don't care."

"It's not about you. It's just that he was looking for a girl named Emily, but he saw you instead. Dude called me up just to say that there are fancy people who go to your workplace."

"Fancy people? Also, you know that guy?"

I recall Lilia and my impression of her. I also think of Yakov. The two of them look out-of-place when pictured in a crowd of average people. You can almost tell that they have money just by looking at them, especially when it comes to Lilia. Yuri, on the other hand, seems pretty normal.

"Yes, that's what he told me. And yes, he used to go to our school but had to transfer because his parents think that his low grades are caused by his friends." Yeah. You're one of his friends.

"And he knows that I'm your sister because...?"

"He probably remembered your face after having been here when I invited him and our other friends to come over. He doesn't seem interested in you, though." Leslie giggles a bit.

"Right. Is that it?"

"Yeah."

"Well that was a waste of time," I whisper, referring to the action of her friend.

"Oh wait. He also mentioned Yuri Plisetsky. You didn't tell me that he goes there!"

"You know Yuri? I just met him." I almost let her know how much of a douche the guy is, but I stop myself. This, I have to admit, has caught my attention.

"Yeah. Saw him in the news twice. Or thrice? I just followed him on Instagram."

"Okay."

"Is he a great skater?"

"Les, I have a job. I can't just go and watch people skate."

Silence hangs around the air for a few minutes before my sister speaks again.

"You should really start fixing yourself. Try to look good. Leave a good impression on people."

I nod my head, knowing how this conversation will go. We've had this for so many times already, and it doesn't end up pretty. It always ends up with someone getting offended while the other one walks away. 

"Hey, are you even listening? Just fix yourself. That's it. It's not that bad."

"I will."

"I doubt it. You've said that so many times, but look at yourself. You haven't changed at all."

"How can I if we don't have enough money? In this family, it almost seems like I'm the only one who-" I pause myself, knowing that the words that will come next can hurt my mom a lot. She already feels like a burden right now. The most insensitive thing that I can do is to make her realize that someone is thinking that she is a burden, even though I don't really think so. I think of her as someone I'm going to escape from. Just like how I think of Leslie.

Leslie has her head lowered and her arms crossed. Her gaze is intense as if I have done or said something out of the line. That only means one thing. She knew what I was about to say: " _In this family, it almost seems like I'm the only one who earns and saves money_." She is shaking her head as if she's disapproving of something. 

"So you're just gonna let people think of how lowly you see yourself? You're not the only one affected, you know. Mom is, too! People will think that you have no pride in yourself and that Mom has never taught you anything at all!"

I stare at Leslie, blinking as I am taken aback by her sudden rage. She looks at me as if I'm a pest. I can't blame her for that. I know that I must make myself look good at all times. That's how it is in Russia. How you present yourself is how you take pride in yourself. For women, at least. Everyone knows and observes the trends. Mostly. I am not included, though. I might be if I have the money, like Lilia. But with our situation—our struggling situation—I can't be like Lilia. Why? Leslie does not want to share her stuff, I don't even want to ask Mom about borrowing hers, and sometimes I can't help but wonder why I should do something that's been done for a long time if I can just be myself.

"Did you talk about your friend and how he's not interested in me just so you can raise this issue?"

"Please, Aus. This has always been the way of people! It's been set in the minds of people for years! Basically, that makes everyone have an idea about it. Even about people who don't observe it! People like you!"

"Oh, come on. Les, we don't always need fancy clothes and makeup. I can still walk around and do something. Just because I look like I don't take pride in myself doesn't mean that I really don't."

"You know what, Aus? The problem with you is that you think that everyone thinks better than how everyone actually does. Nobody's interested enough to get to know you, especially with you looking like you don't even care about yourself! You're so stuck-up with all your books and all your stuff that Mom and I don't even know about! What is wrong with you?"

One thing that I can't seem to fathom is how Leslie and I can be like this while Mom is not doing anything at all. She's just there, spacing out. I'm over here, trying not to hear Leslie's criticisms. I want my thoughts to be louder than her. I want her words to get away from me.

Somehow, her words are piercing me, stabbing me. I try my best not to cry or even show a moment of weakness. I sit here, taking all of those words and letting them kill me. Though I know that I am terribly hurting and emotionally bleeding, I do not do anything. I tell myself to stay calm because they'll be looking for me when I’m gone. She'll never be able to tell me those things someday. She won't be able to see me at all.

"Oh sure, Aus. Don't listen. I'm just saying this for your own good." Leslie stands up and leaves. Just then, I hear the sound of the television. She must have gone to her throne—the couch. Typical Leslie.

I don't want this. I don't want having meals with chances of getting into arguments. I don't want to feel so oppressed by my own family. I don't want to feel like I have no one to talk to at home. This isn't even a home to begin with.

I continue eating, finishing what's left on my plate. When I'm about to leave, as well, Mom breaks the tension left in the air with her soft and pleading voice.

"Austra." 

My mom has finished her plate and is now looking at me. She is giving me an apologetic look. "Is it alright for you to use your savings so we can pay for the rent? I'll pay you back once I get a job and have my salary." She gives me a smile with a hint of hesitation, as if saying, "Please."

I can't answer her. I stay there, looking back into her dark brown eyes–the same kind of eyes that I see when I'm looking at a mirror. I want to say no. I don't want to use my money since I have a feeling that she might not pay me back. I don't want to use my money because I already have plans on how I'm going to use it. Why does it have to be me? Why does it only have to be me? Leslie can help pay the rent, too!

"I don't think that my money's enough for us to be able to pay the rent."

"It's fine. I'll ask the landlord if he can wait for the other half of the payment."

How Leslie has gotten me tired from hearing her harsh words made me end everything that I can say to Mom—even anything that may possibly persuade her not to borrow my money. "Fine."

After agreeing, I get up from the table then I head to my room; since it's Mom's turn to wash the dishes, I have no reason to stay. I go to my plastic cabinet. I take out a book and get all the money I put between pages. I save a little for myself even though I am against this. Mom and Leslie need me. They may not know it, but I do. And someday I won't be here to help them. Being too kind today is my way of giving the kindness I won't give them in the future. We will part ways and I won't ever look back.

I go outside my room and give my money to Mom. After that, I lock myself in my beloved sanctuary and wonder why I’ve been cursed with such people.

Days pass by. Assignments are given, done and passed. Exercises are brought up by professors in hopes of making us become challenged by their questions. Everything is the same. Everyday in school is torture.

I’m one of the students who prefer staying in classrooms. I hate walking down the halls, especially because of the possibility of passing by popular kids since they’re either bullying others or flirting with their own kind. I’m not into witnessing their lives. I am more interested of graduating, of leaving this place. I want to be with Dad and study in a good college from where he is residing at right now.

I’m doing everything I can to get good grades, so that applying for a known university won’t be as difficult as I think it is. Dad has already agreed to help me. I talk to him on Facebook and he seems pretty excited for me. But I can’t always rely on other people without having a back-up plan. If Dad doesn’t help me, I’m going to use all of the money I have saved for my transportation and other stuff that I should pay for. So far, I haven’t earned much, especially now that Mom asked for my money.

Every time I take a few steps forward, everything adjusts itself to make me realize that I’m still at the starting line. I don’t want that. I want to be somewhere else. I want to be away from everyone here. I want to disappear and I’m going to. Soon.


	4. Chapter 4

It has been two weeks ever since Mom got fired and borrowed some money from me. She said that the landlord agreed to give us at least next month to pay the other half of the rent along with the payment for next month. I have no idea how we're going to make that happen since Mom only got a new job four days ago at the call center. So, being the most concerned member of the family when it comes to our expenses, I asked for help from the very enemy of my mother—Dad. I had to do it since I doubt that Mom can show up with an amount of money that's going to save us. Dad told me that it’s fine. He said that he’d deposit some money in my bank account–one that he once asked me to have just so he can help me in times of emergency. Mom and Leslie know nothing about it. In fact, they don’t know how close I am to Dad. I prefer it that way.

Although I appreciate Dad’s generosity, I can’t always depend on him. He won’t always be there to help me, so I have to be prepared. I have to be independent. I have to be strong. Working at _Emptiness_ , as I would like to call it, is my very own challenge to myself, especially now that I’m interacting with different people. In real life, I have to tolerate and deal with others no matter how badly I don’t want to. One of those people is Yuri who is just right after Leslie and Mom at the top of my list.

Today, Yuri shows up with his instructors, Lilia and Yakov. He is not grumpy unlike his usual self, but he is looking dead serious. He has his jacket removed, seeing that he is holding it with his left hand. He is wearing a black shirt, matching it with some type of comfy jeans of the same color—kind of like a pair of figure skating pants.

Ever since Leslie mentioned him to me, I couldn't help myself from getting curious about him. I wanted to check him out online, but I somehow always forget to. Well, how can I if Mom's using the laptop—the only one at home—a lot these days? She keeps on searching for high-paying jobs that might save us from our problem. I guess she wants an immediate high salary even without having a high position. Well, whatever. As long as she's not surfing on some nasty online dating sites, I couldn't care less.

"Hey," he says when he looks at me. He glances at Yakov before saying, "Skates."

I immediately go away to get them for him, but I cannot find a pair of his size. I do the unthinkable and grab a pair from the girl's section. Men wear black skates while women wear white or tan colored ones. Today, Yuri has to skate with white skates and it's all going to be my fault.

I am about to march my way back to the desk until my co-worker, who has been absent for a few days because of being ill, stops me for a moment just so she can apologize for not being around to help me adjust myself to my current shift. I ask her if there's any available ice skates of Yuri's size from the male's. She shakes her head.

"Where are they? They're too many to be gone like that."

"I don't know. Maybe someone cleaned them up and placed them somewhere else."

"That grumpy guy would seriously kill me in his mind."

"Grumpy guy?"

"Yuri."

"Yuri? Yuri Plisetsky? The Russian Punk?"

I raise an eyebrow at Valeria as I stare back into her clear blue eyes. Somehow amusement has started to cover them as her mouth remains open, as if waiting for me to tell her what I know about the guy.

"We're all Russians here and we can all be punks if we want to."

"Austra, I'm serious."

"I don't know. Maybe? How come you and my sister know who he is while I don't?"

"That's because you don't care about stuff like this."

"I'm not sure if I should be offended by that or not."

Suddenly, Valeria and I hear Yuri's voice. Impatience is ringing around with it. He says, "What's taking it so long?"

That takes me by surprise. I then realize that I got distracted. That isn't good news to me. If I can be easily distracted, it means that I can be easily swayed by useless and pointless things. I shouldn't be like that. Especially because I have plans of my own that I want–have–to do no matter what.

I shouldn't be distracted from running away.

"I'll search for them among the boxes at the staffroom. Try and text Emily about it," Valeria tells me. I nod my head and take my leave.

At the desk, I see Yuri arguing with Yakov and Lilia. He is not facing them, but you can easily tell that he's either upset or angry at them. He has his hands crossed in front of his chest.

"I apologize for making you wait–"

As I'm nearing the desk, I sense trouble in the air. I almost want to go away.

"Young lady, aren't those for women?" Lilia points out.

"Yes, but there is no pair of skates of his size that's available as of now."

Lilia is about to say something, but Yuri has spoken first before she can even talk, thus making her silence herself.

"Well, I don't wanna waste my time while waiting for those skates. I might as well practice now until there's an available one that I can use."

"You should have your own pair next time so that we can save ourselves the trouble," Yakov suggests with a strict tone in his voice. He is saying it with a hint of certainty. His suggestion is not merely a suggestion but rather a promise, though not obvious.

"It is best to be prepared," says Lilia in agreement with Yakov.

Yuri nods his head at me as he looks at the skates I brought. His eyebrows are knitted together as if someone has ruined his day already. I hand him the skates while Yakov and Lilia leave to go to the rink. Yuri lets out a heavy sigh. I apologize again, feeling a tad bit guilty. He freezes for a moment and blinks at me. His eyes now filled with curiosity. But then, he snaps and just turns to leave.

I let my phone out and call Emily. I ask her if she knows where the skates are, she tells me that they're inside one of the boxes of the staffroom. I thank her before texting Valeria about it. A few minutes pass by before Valeria walks up to me to tell me that she has found them. She returns the skates to where they are usually put. I notice how the skates are clean and how they don't even smell at all. I guess Emily and the others cleaned them up and forgot or didn't bother to return them.

Valeria gives me a pair, reaching two clean-looking black skates to me. I stare at her for a few seconds, curious about her action. It takes me a while before I get her because of her cheshire grin.

"No," I immediately tell her.

"Why? You know nothing about him. You probably haven't seen him skate, have you?"

"Please tell me that you're not a fan of his."

"I'm not a really huge fan, but I've seen him skate before. Believe me, you'll respect him once you catch him do his thing."

"His thing? Seriously?"

"I'm talking about skating. Don't put words in my mouth."

"I'm not doing anything at all."

"And so, you must give these to him."

"No."

"Yes."

"In exchange for chicken nuggets?"

"McDonald's?"

She nods her head and her smile gets bigger, almost making her eyes sink because of her cheeks. I quickly grab the pair from her and tell her that I'm going to do it simply because I haven't eaten chicken nuggets for quite some time. The reason that I have for that is also the reason that I have for not wearing or having makeup. I have to save money even in the simplest of ways that's why I starve myself of anything that can make me spend too much.

I leave the desk and head to the rink. It gets colder as I get closer, so I zip my maroon jacket close. I see people goofing around. There are those who can skate a bit and those who can barely move at all without falling. I look around for the blonde guy, but I cannot spot him anywhere.

Voices touch each other in the air. Laughters are heard. The sounds of happiness are filling Emptiness. Right now, this sanctuary of mine is filled with visitors that will soon be gone, but at the end of the day nobody stays. Not even me.

I hear a faint sound of music from somewhere else. It is coming from the other rink. I head over there. I catch a glimpse of Yuri who is skating along with the music. I am almost ready to call him, but I stop myself from doing that just to watch him. I get closer to the border, so I can watch him and hear the music better.

The song is telling me a story of insecurity, greed and fear, but as I look at Yuri I can only know the story of greed. He moves with grace and elegance, as though nothing has ever swayed him or made him disoriented. But his eyes, they say something else. Though he looks calm, he seems too determined, too motivated to have something.

Yuri looks like an angel–a greedy angel. He looks so peaceful and yet he does not seem like he wants to be peaceful. He seems like he wants more–more of what he can and can't have. When he does a jump or when he spins on air, I see a frustrated angel trying to fly. When he lands, he moves again, as if searching for another time to fly away. He'll steal all your attention and make you his. But he's not satisfied with that. He has stolen the spotlight from everyone in the place, even the skaters around him are taking glances or even actually watching him. The greedy angel wants everyone to look at him. He wants everyone to see him. He wants everyone to witness the moment he's going to dance on air. He wants everyone to love him for it–to love him even though he is abandoning them. For an angel, he is too selfish and proud. He is trying to fly to a heaven where he can be more loved than a god. He is beautiful, but he is too damned because of his foolish desires.

This time, I'm the one who's frozen. I can only see him. I can only see Yuri. I may not know what he wants his audience to feel, but right now I feel so overwhelmed by his performance. He is not good nor great. He is stunningly outstanding. He is a fighter with a deceiving facade. He is rebelling against what he is. He doesn't want to be an angel trying to fly. He wants to be a god who can witness angels like him challenge themselves in trying to be what they can never ever be.

Although I am impressed, I can't help but see a flaw. I am too drowned in the story he's telling me, but his story and the song's story are not the same. He is giving me a feeling that the music is not emphasizing. He is too in control of what I should feel and see, that he does not let the music tell him what to do. He is a dictator dictating me and the music.

When Yuri is finally done, Lilia claps. Yakov, on the other hand, waits for him to get off the rink. I snap out of my entrancement at Yuri and feel nervous all over again. Once he's no longer at the rink, he grabs the bottle of water Yakov gives him. Yakov starts talking. I catch Yuri's sudden change of mood because of him. Yuri shows a disinterested look even though he is listening pretty well. Maybe Yakov is criticizing him. Yakov approaches Lilia once he's done. The two of them talk as they take steps away from Yuri as if they don’t want him to know what they’re talking about.

Yuri lets go of his mask of grumpiness and shakes his head. He runs a hand through his hair then takes his phone out from his left pocket. That surprises me because that means that he skated the whole time he had his phone with him. If he made a mistake and fell or slipped, his phone might end up having a cracked screen.

Suddenly, he sees me. His gaze travels down to the pair of skates that I have with me. He is staring at the pair intently.

"Are you going to continue looking stupid over there?"

I'm not that far away, but I'm not that near to him, either. However, the distance doesn't blur the fact that Yuri is a jerk who is almost always angry. I run to where he is so he won't have to insult me on being slow. I don't want him to because I just want to save myself from getting annoyed.

"Sorry," I tell him.

"Why do you keep on apologizing? You're just making yourself look dumber."

"I must be polite. That's why."

"Yet you called me a douche."

"That's because I wasn't here. I'm not serving anyone outside."

"So you're a goody two-shoes here? Disgusting."

"Can't you be nice for a second? It wouldn't kill you to be nice to people."

He shuts up for a moment and his expression softens. I immediately feel like I said something out of the line. However, the guilt immediately fades away when he says, "That's more than a second. How was I?"

"I'm going back," I say as I shake my head in disappointment. I almost thought that he might apologize and change himself even just for a moment. But no; he just played along with sarcasm. The guy really is a jerk.

"You haven't answered my question, hag."

"I am not a hag. I don't even remember you asking me a question."

"How was I?"

He is serious this time just like how he was this morning. He looks so vulnerable right now, and I can't help but wonder why. Does he really love skating that much or is there another reason? Either way, it's not like it concerns me. All I have to do is tell him what I think. That's it.

"You were okay."

"Okay?" His calmness is gone and his grumpy self is immediately back. I find it as somewhat hilarious as to how fast one can trigger him to get upset or mad.

"No. I'm kidding. You were excellent. But if anything, I can't feel you _with_ the song." As I'm about to go and express my opinions, he dismisses me with, "Okay. Now go away, hag."

I give him a fake smile, trying my best to pretend that it's alright to carelessly dismiss my opinion of his performance. It's not like he's going to lose anything just by hearing my criticism. He asked me about it so he might as well know everything that I have to say. His ego is bigger than his concern for his own improvement. I pity him for that. He looks like he wants to be better, and yet he doesn’t even want to know what makes him sloppy. He is undeniably talented. However, I can’t feel him being one with what he is doing. That’s what’s going to hold him back. That’s what he needs to fix. That’s what he has to know.

“Wait,” he stops me.

“What?”

“You’re not a regular here, right? Just part-time?”

“Yeah. So?”

“Then there’s no reason for you to be that cautious of how you treat me. You keep on giving me that smile even though it’s pretty obvious how much you want to answer back. Man, you’re even worse than a hag. Don’t you have a mind of your own?”

I stand there, watching him look at his phone and do his thumb’s tap dance on the screen. What he said makes sense, but it also hurts. I’m trying my best to be too polite to people so that I can guarantee myself a job here. Even so, I’m still going to be replaced someday. I’m still gonna have to leave. Being too polite doesn’t do anything. I’m only a part-time worker, not a regular. People like me can barely get promoted.

Why do I have to do things that make me look like I’m planning to stay when all I really want is to be somewhere else far away from here? I keep on enduring things, yet I shouldn’t even do so. Just what do I really want? I want to run away and be gone. I want to brace my freedom and feel like I’m not restrained by anything when it comes to doing things that I want to do. I want to be happy.

“Why do you always look at your phone?”

“Instagram. I have to know what Viktor’s been up to.”

“So you’re stalking him?”

“I am not stalking him, you hag.”

“Yeah. And you’re a douche,” I tell him before leaving.

I can’t help but smile because of what I did. He wanted me to stop being too polite, right? I can do that. Only to him, though. I feel like he would never bother on complaining about me to the manager since he’s the one who encouraged. I can claim this much freedom here. I should actually thank him for that.

I go back to the desk and entertain other customers. I give them their ice skates and locker keys. I encounter children who are too eager to skate, couples who look like they want to have fun skating, teens who are here to loosen themselves up and so on. Valeria and I help each other whenever we can, especially when one of us gets too confused.

When my shift is finally over, Valeria asks me about Yuri. I don’t tell her anything, but I do remind her of my chicken nuggets. She tells me that she’ll bring a take-out next time. She better do because I’m craving for them.

Yuri is still skating past my shift. I am slightly upset about it since I looked forward to talking to him. I think that he has stayed behind since Yakov seems to have seen mistakes in Yuri’s performance although I can barely see any except for his lack of attachment to it. No matter. There’s still next time. I can still be mean next time.

I head home surprisingly cheerful and happy because of Yuri and Valeria. I had a lot of fun at work today. I called a punk a douche and made someone promise me to treat me with an order of McDonald’s chicken nuggets. Those simple things were enough to make me happy today. But that happiness is short-lived.

Once I’m finally home, I see Leslie and her friends at the living room. They are all chatting. One of them laughs hysterically from time to time. When they take note of my presence, they stare at me. Leslie greets me but continues her conversation with her friends. Just then, I observe the girls of her group. They all have their faces made up. Still, they look pretty and presentable just like my sister. The guys don’t give me a second glance. Some of them look at the other girls with such interest. One of them looks at my sister as if he is dying to kiss her. I can say so because he’s not looking at Leslie’s eyes. He is looking at Leslie’s lips. No one has ever looked at me like that. I guess that’s just the typical difference of me and her. There’s always something that she has that I don’t have, but I never have anything that she doesn’t have.

I take the laptop from Mom’s room and go to my four-walled hideout. I close the door and lock it. I put my bag on my table, remove my shoes, lie on my bed, place the laptop on my stomach and turn it on. I log in on Facebook just to see if Dad’s online. He isn’t. I log myself out then search for Yuri’s videos because I’m pretty curious about him.

Valeria was right. Once I see him skate, I’m going to respect him. I still can’t forget what I witnessed at the skating rink. It was just too beautiful. It’s indescribable and splendid despite the detachment of the performer. I want to see Yuri’s other performances. He seemed so unlike himself when I watched him. It actually took me by surprise.

I want to see the douchebag turn into an angel again.

I watch five videos of Yuri before shutting the laptop down and heading to sleep. I place it on the floor since I’m too lazy to get out of my bed and put it on my table. I get back to my comfy pal and pull the blankets close to me. I close my eyes, drifting myself to peace. It takes me a few hours until someone wakes me up by banging loudly on my door. I get off of my bed, rub my eyes and open the door only to see my irritated mother look at me with such anger in her eyes. Although I don’t want to deal with her, I have to regardless of being clueless as to why she’s mad.


	5. Chapter 5

I am humming as I’m preparing breakfast. It’s Leslie’s turn to do the meals for the day, but I got up way earlier than she did so I took the initiative to cook. I am craving for an egg-in-a-hole sandwich. Therefore, egg-in-a-hole sandwiches will be our breakfast whether Leslie and Mom like them or not. I sway my hips a bit, feeling as if there’s music around me. Just then, a voice interrupts my humming.

“You’re pretty cheerful today.”

I turn around and see my sister. She yawns as she leans against the refrigerator. I turn my attention back to what I’m preparing. I stop humming and just fry the egg with the bread I created a hole on. Leslie clears her throat, as if telling me that she wants a conversation with me.

“Work,” is the only thing that I say to her.

“Why? Do you have a cute co-worker or something?”

“No. I’m just excited.”

I smile at the thought of seeing Yuri and insulting him. I like how he has given me the freedom to be able to react as I wish when it comes to him because usually, when you’re a servant in the world of jobs, you must silence every complaint you have against the customer or the boss. As what they always say; customers are always right, and the boss is the king. I just wish Yakov and Lilia aren’t around so I can actually go and call him a douche.

I flip the bread on the pan, revealing me a properly toasted slash fried side. I can almost taste the food just by looking at it. Heck, I’m starving.

“Why was Mom mad last night?”

The smile on my face disappears.

“It’s because of the laptop. She had to use it. We really need another laptop.”

“But we don’t have the money,” Leslie says as she takes a seat.

Once I’m done, I place all of the sandwiches on different plates. There are two sandwiches per person. I put the plates on the table then eat even while I’m standing.

“You’re seriously going to work looking like that?” she asks as she reaches out for her plate at the middle of the table while I tell her that I _am_ going to work looking like myself. She eyes me in my green shirt and white pants. She stares at my face as if she’s waiting for something. “Don’t you feel naked without makeup?”

“If you’re that concerned, let me borrow yours,” I tell her. She shakes her head and tells me, “You know that I can’t.”

“I don’t know that you can’t, but I know that you _won’t_.” I finish my first bread. I grab the other one and take a bite.

“So have you seen _him_ skate?”

“Yuri? Yeah. He’s great,” I say as I chew.

“Manners,” Leslie sighs in disappointment.

“You’re pretty nice today, Les.” I take my bag from the chair next to her and leave.

At work, Valeria gives me a take-out of McDonald’s chicken nuggets. I thank her for it. I eat some of it first before going to the desk. Once I’m there, I entertain the customers. I wait for the punk, but he hasn’t come yet. I see Yakov who is walking with someone else. He is talking to a man who’s taller and younger than him. They both look serious.

Hours pass by. My shift has ended, but Yuri still hasn’t arrived. Maybe he’s sick or he’s practicing somewhere else. If the latter’s the case, then that would mean that seeing him again would be unlikely. As I take my things from the locker, I ask Valeria, “Why isn’t he around today?”

“Who?”

“Yuri.”

“Oh yeah. He didn’t come today. Why? You wanted to see him skate again?”

“No.” _Yes, but that’s not possible unless there are no customers to handle, or there’s a reason for me to watch him._

“Are you a fan now?”

“No.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then don’t.” We smile at each other.

I bid my goodbye to Valeria and go ahead of her as I eat my chicken nuggets. Once I’m outside, I see Yuri standing right in front of the entrance. He’s wearing a red jacket and a white shirt underneath that has the face of a lion as a design. He notices me looking and asks, “What?”

“You weren’t there.”

“Of course. It’s my rest day. Do you want me to die or something?”

“Nobody dies because of skating at an ice rink.”

“Not that, you idiot. Fatigue. Don’t you know that?”

“Douche.”

“I know. I’m a douche. Do you know other words besides that?”

“Jerk.”

“Oh. You do.”

“If it’s your rest day, why are you here?”

He rubs his pointing finger against the tip of his nose. He looks like a kid when he does that. When he stops, he walks towards me. He looks around before asking me, “Did you see him?” He notices the confusion on my face, so he tells me that he’s referring to Yakov. I give him a nod, and he lets out a heavy sigh.

“It’s a good thing I didn’t go inside.”

“Why?”

“It’s none of your business, hag.”

I take a look at my wristwatch and remember my unfinished homework. Yuri watches me, then takes two chicken nuggets from me. He stares at me, waiting for me to say something. He eats them while I look at him in disbelief.

“Did you just-“

“I’m hungry.”

“Those were _my_ chicken nuggets.”

“Whatever. Now go away.”

I shake my head and turn around. Although I want to answer back, I refrain myself. I have to do my homework and study, so I shouldn’t stay any longer. I’ll just argue with him next time.

“Bye, hag,” he says in a normal tone. Usually, he sounds like he’s shouting. Hearing him speak in an unusual but normal way caught me off-guard.

I look back at him and smile. I wave my hand then leave. I head home. I think of what I should write about my essay. I also think about applying for college. Ideas of whether or not I’m going to pass are filling my head. What if I don’t get accepted? What if I’m too ambitious?

Remembering the assignment reminded me that I have other things to do–things that are more important. Although I started this day with a positive note, I realize how wrong it is of me. I’m leaving, so why am I acting like I’m looking forward to something here? If I keep getting that feeling, my plan to leave might waver. If my determination gets affected, I might never leave this place. I might suffer.

My phone rings. I take a look and realize that Dad sent me a message, asking me if I have received anything because he sent something for me. I tell him that I haven’t. I stare at the screen of my phone and think of my father.

I don’t want to disappoint him. I don’t want to fail him. I want to be with him, and not with Leslie and Mom. I want to know what it feels like to have someone properly treat you like a family member. I want someone who supports me.

If anything, I shouldn’t get attached to anyone. Not even Valeria. I’m a transient. Every relationship that I’m going to have here will only be temporary. Once I leave, I’ll be nobody to them just as how they’ll be nobody to me. I will forget and will be forgotten. So I should always have a tad bit of distance to people. I should always act according to what I want my future to be. With that, a question alarms me.

What have I been doing?


	6. Chapter 6

Sunday morning is at its absolute worst when I'm seated by the dining table while Mom and Leslie are looking at me as if I have just killed someone. Mom is taking deep breaths, trying to calm herself down. Leslie, on the other hand, has her arms crossed and her right leg forward while her left leg carries her weight. That causes her hip to support her weight on her left side more, giving me a stance that tells me that she has expected this to happen.

I try to think of other things since I do not want myself to deal with Mom and Leslie. The dishes are stacked by the sink. Leftovers are set aside at a separate plate, so we can eat them again. I still have to endure the coming months before I get the chance to leave this place.

Just then, Mom slams her hand on the table and gets my attention for that. She is looking at me with an upset and mad expression. She uses the same hand and covers her eyes–a pose she often does when frustrated or dismayed.

"How long have you been talking to _him_?"

I guess she found out through Facebook.

I refuse to answer, so I look away. However, Mom walks towards me and forces me to look at her. I remember her waking me up and getting all bitchy with me last week just because I had the laptop. I also remember being confused as to why she was so angry about that. Right now, the same look she gave me that night is drawn on her face. I shouldn't feel something, but I have to admit that I'm scared.

"He's my _father_. I can talk to him whenever I want."

"We are fine without him."

"You don't mean that," I tell her, wanting her to think about what she said.

Everyday is a struggle to make our money be enough. We shouldn't spend too much, we should always save–those were what we always thought about. Even so, Mom and Leslie seem to be hypocrites about that. I can't help but be envious of those who can carelessly spend their money on random things. Unlike them, I have to be so careful with my money because my plans and my needs are with them. That's why I have to be responsible enough. Even when disregarding financial issues, we're not okay. My relationship with my mother and my sister is something that I want to end. I feel so cursed with having them be related to me. That is not how a family should be. And that is obviously nowhere near fine. _We_ are _nowhere_ near fine.

Mom signals Leslie to get something. Leslie goes away for a minute or two and comes back with an envelope.

"Leslie, what's that?" I ask her, feeling even more nervous.

She takes a paper from it. She reads it at first but returns it immediately inside the envelope. It's a letter from Dad. I almost thought that I caught a glimpse of a sour expression. "What do we have here?" What comes next are brochures of different colleges. Seeing Leslie hold them almost made my heart stop itself from beating. What she is holding is what Dad asked me about. I didn't receive it. Someone else did. Right now, I'm confronted about it.

"Are you planning to leave?"

"Put them back, please."

"You're just planning to leave me and Mom? How selfish can you be?"

"Leslie, put them back!" I shout with such desperation as I stand up from my seat.

Mom slaps me. I feel tears streaming down my face after that. "You're just like your father," she spits her words at me like I'm such a disgusting creature. She takes the brochures from Leslie and crumples them. She leaves them lifeless on the floor. She leaves my dreams lifeless on the floor. She walks away and I'm glad that she does. She's a monster, not a mother.

My tears won't stop. They just keep on coming. I feel so hurt and betrayed by the people who should have supported me. I sit on the floor, crying while I'm picking up the crumpled brochures. I almost forgot that Leslie's just standing near me, watching me. Leslie places the envelope on the table. I almost want to thank her for that because seeing my Mom crumple the brochures, even if they were just brochures, broke my heart.

"You look so pathetic right now."

I raise my head and look at Leslie. I want her to comfort me just like how a sister would. But no. I don't think that the thought has even occurred to her. She's just as heartless as Mom. That explains a lot of things.

A question I have always refrained myself from asking leaves my lips, "What have I ever done to be treated like this?" Saying that makes me feel worse than ever, but at the same time I'm slightly relieved of letting go of them. I’ve kept them in for so long.

"You'll be late for work."

She immediately turns around. I see her shoulders shake. I hear her soft sobs. She leaves me alone, and I hate her for that. If she felt sorry for me, she should at least let me know because right now all I really want is to feel and know that someone in this family cares enough for me. I'm the one who's planning to leave, and yet here I am, abandoned by everyone.

I try to flatten out the brochures. I stand up and take the envelope, putting the brochures back inside. I press it against my chest for a minute, wishing for Dad to be around to calm me down. I want my father back. I want my old family back. I don't want a family that I regret seeing each day with. Unfortunately, what I don't want is what I have.

I wipe my tears away and head to my room. I hide the envelope where Mom and Leslie can't find it because I can't trust anyone in this house. I can’t. I take a bath and prepare myself even though I feel so tired. My eyes feel like I cried a waterfall. They don’t help at all because they make me feel like sleeping. I have to go to work. I have to earn some money. I have to survive. I have to make myself leave this place.

On the way, I can’t help but let my tears slide themselves against my cheek from time to time. It’s like they’re telling me that it’s gonna be alright. I can almost picture my tears as blue fairies with calm expressions that are patting my cheeks, telling me, “Hush, baby, hush.”

I wipe my tears away, rejecting the comfort they are giving me. I tie my hair and run; run as if I’m off to see the horizon of life; as if nothing and nobody can stop me from being free. I am strong and independent. I do not need anyone but myself.

Once I arrive at work, I head to the staff room. I get my time sheet and approach the time clock for a time in. I put my sheet back. I remove my backpack and put it inside my locker. I stare at my uniform, making sure that there’s no torn part. I take a deep breath, readying myself for the day. Just in time, Valeria walks in and greets me. I greet her back. I immediately go to the desk.

 _Emptiness_ is going to be filled with people again, and they’re all going to abandon it later. It’s funny how one can never tell who’s going to stay or who’s going to leave. What’s funnier is that we are so heartbroken when someone leaves, even though that’s actually normal. What’s surprising is when someone doesn’t, not the other way around. One should try to find out who stays, so he knows who to trust. And I’m pretty sure that I’m not one of those people.

It takes at least two hours before I see Yuri arrive. He’s looking at me as he walks his way in front of here. Every time I look at his face, he seems as though he wants to pick a fight with everyone. I can’t even imagine him smile. I actually prefer being like that rather than being able to master the art of lying through smiling.

“You already know,” he says.

I take a pair of skates and give it to him.

“Where’s Lilia?” The question has left my mouth before I can even stop myself.

“By the rink.”

He takes the skates and looks at the way to the rink before looking at me again. He raises an eyebrow. Although that kind of expression is most often interpreted as one of curiosity, Yuri gives it a different meaning. He makes it an expression of disbelief.

“What the hell happened to you?”

“Nothing that you should concern yourself with, Sir.”

As I’m about to give him a smile, I stop when I realize that he is staring at me intently. His gaze makes me feel like I should stop pretending and that he can see past the facade I’m putting on.

“You look awful. You should’ve gone home if you wouldn’t bother to tell anyone about what happened because you look so-“

“Pathetic?” I finish his sentence with a word I am too familiar with–a word my sister has always labelled me as. He pauses for a while, then he sighs and goes away with disappointment written all over his face. I may hate to admit it, but that makes me feel even worse.

Valeria taps me on my shoulder, surprising me with her silly move because I didn’t realize that she has been there all along. She gives me a concerned look, and I just shake my head then smile at her, letting her know that I’m fine.

“You can always talk to-“

“I’m fine. Really. I’m fine.”

I get back to work. I arrange the skates on the shelves properly and make sure that those of the same size go together. I head back to the desk and tend to the customers, along with Valeria. I drown myself with my tasks, not wondering about the time. For that, I become unaware that my shift is done. That is until Valeria mentioned so. She keeps on asking me if I’m fine, and all I’m saying is a yes. She asks me if I want her to go with me, but I tell her that I don’t. Valeria frowns. I leave first, only to catch Yuri by the entrance of the rink again. I didn’t notice him leave the rink. Maybe Valeria’s the one who entertained him.

Yuri glares at me as he reaches a box of chicken nuggets towards me. I raise an eyebrow, and he gets all grumpy. “Just take the damned thing,” he tells me. I ask him what it’s for, then he pouts.

“For taking some of your chicken nuggets last time.”

“I’m pretty sure that that’s not it. You’re not like that.”

“What the hell does that mean, hag?”

“Seriously, what’s this for?”

He takes his phone out and stares at the screen. An air of silence curses the two of us for a few seconds until he interrupts it by saying, “I already said what it’s for… And also to cheer you up.” He doesn’t raise his head. He is just staring at the screen, not daring to make any eye contact with me. I guess he doesn’t know what to say anymore. Well, me too. That makes two of us.

“Thanks,” I say. He gives me a gesture that signals me to go on and talk. I only reward him with a dead expression. This triggers him to get annoyed.

“You’re still not going to talk about it?”

“Why should I talk about it with _you_?”

“Hey, give me a break, will ya! I went out of my way to buy this and give it to you.”

“I didn’t even ask you to,” I eye him and the box, asking myself whether I should take it or not. I’m pretty sure that if I do take it, I’m gonna have to talk. And if I do talk, I’m going to feel guilty because of being unfair to Valeria when she has been quite concerned about me the whole day, and also because of the possibility of being attached to someone even if my very goal is to be gone from this place.

“Goddamn it, Aura!” His voice is now loud, hence getting the attention of passersby.

“Aura?” I repeat. A smile fights its way to my lips–which ruins my whole facade of not wanting to associate myself with others, of being numb–while Yuri blinks with curiosity. “It’s _Austra_. _”_ After my correction, Yuri’s face flushes with an obvious shade of red.

“I only read your name tag once! Of course I won’t be able to remember it after all these days!” he replies in a knowing tone, as if I’m the one who has made a mistake. Then he gets back to telling me to tell him what’s wrong.

I don’t answer him, but I do give him a hint: “Do you even know how it feels like for someone to crush your dreams right in front of you?”

His expression softens when he tells me that people underestimate competitions too much. At first I’m confused about the connection of competitions to dreams. However, he adds, “When you like something and you’re good at it, you’d want to know how better you are than other people. You’d look up to those who seem respectable to you. You’d compete. And when you lose, you’re crushed. Imagine what it’s like in the shoes of those who do and compete for what they like for a living.”

My phone rings. I search for it in my bag, only to find out that Leslie is calling me. I reject her call and put my phone on silent mode. I don’t want to go home yet. I don’t want to see _them_ yet.

I look at Yuri and ask him, “Can you teach me how to skate?”

“What?” His eyes reveal how surprised he is. His instant change of expression is starting to get to me. It actually looks adorable for a punk like him. At specific times only, though. One minute he’s okay or calm, then the next he’s prepared to rip your head off.

“Why the hell should I teach you how to skate?” He fires back. I notice that he has been holding the box of chicken nuggets for quite a while now, so I take it from him. I put it inside my bag. I doubt that he can make me spill the beans about what really happened at home. For all I know, we’re both strangers to each other.

“Then don’t.” I give him a smile.

“Fine, fine. It’s damn fine. Geez!” He nods his head off to where the entrance is, letting me know that he’s agreed to my ridiculous request. “I just didn’t want to go home early, so I thought that I should kill some time by comforting you, but damn it.”

“Same. Lol. The feeling is mutual,” I tell him with sarcasm obvious in my voice.

We go inside and approach the desk. I realize that Valeria is still there, even though her shift is over, as well. She gives me a small smile and asks, “Are you okay now?” Yuri takes a glance at me while I apologize to Valeria for being cold towards her for the past hours. She then asks for our sizes. She leaves to search for skates that we can use and gets back with them. When she hands them over, she looks at the two of us.

“I didn’t know you were friends with him.” She grins at us. Yuri and I exchange looks. We both shake our heads. “We’re not.”

“As long as you’re okay now, Aus.”

Yuri pays for the two of us. Somehow I think that the punk might possibly have a gentlemanly side. Valeria gives us two keys for two lockers. Yuri and I go to the changeroom and search for the lockers that match the number on our keys. We put our bags inside our lockers. We remove our shoes and put them inside, too. Actually, I’m just imitating Yuri for what he’s doing because I know nothing about this. When I notice him sit on the bench of the changeroom just to put the ice skates on, I follow him.

“Make sure you tie the laces properly,” he says as he finishes tying the laces of his black skates.

It’s only now that I realize that these boots–if I can call them as such–are made of leather. I wear them and tie the laces. He watches me with a serious look, as if he’s observing me tie them. He says, “Don’t make them too loose or too tight.”

“Why are we putting them on here? Others put them on near the rink.”

“So you can get used to walking your way to the rink while wearing those. Trust me, it’ll help you get used to standing on ice.”

When I finally stand up after finishing tying the laces, I immediately fall down. I use the surface of the bench to support me on standing up. Once I’m finally standing, Yuri tells me to try and walk. I take the first step. I lose my balance. Yuri grabs my arm and pulls me against the direction of my fall. I look at his face and almost feel intimidated by him. He seems like he’s glaring at me.

“Try again. Slowly.”

“Hey, Dad. Go and call Mom. She might miss seeing me walk for the first time,” I kid.

“Shut up,” his eyebrows are knitted together again.

I take a step on my left foot. I shake a bit. I take another step, using my other foot. I take a few steps, then try to see if I can walk in a normal pace. I stumble. Yuri lets out a sigh.

“Don’t expect much. You’re just a beginner,” he tells me as he helps me stand up. “Walk only on carpeted floors. Walk on concrete, and you’ll hurt yourself.”

“Surprisingly, you’re too serious about this.”

“That’s because you’re an idiot. Now let’s go.”

He leads me to the rink. As he is doing that, he makes sure that I can catch up because I’m still mastering the art of walking using fabulous shoes. Once we’re in front of the barrier or the small wall that acts as a border of the rink, he gives me a few reminders.

  1. When entering, don’t go to the opposite direction of the skaters. I might hit someone or someone might hit me if I do.
  2. If I can’t skate and I’m pretty sure about that, the wall is my buddy. I should hold onto it.
  3. I should remember what he tells me.
  4. I should listen to him.
  5. He tells me that I’m dumb, so I should try my best to be smart enough. _This made me want to slap him with papers I have from school._



The space that breaks the almost full circle outline of the walls is where he’s pointing at. He tells me that that’s where people enter. He gestures me to go first. When I enter the rink, I immediately grab onto the wall. Even so, I almost fell. Yuri enters and goes to my side.

“You are such a loser,” he tells me.

“You’re supposed to teach me how to skate. Not insult me.”

“Hag,” he mumbles to himself before he asks me to try to move, even while holding onto the wall. He teaches me how to make myself move on ice while we’re still by the edge. I can feel eyes on us. Somehow, I suddenly feel self-conscious.

“Aren’t you supposed to get worried about being seen with me?”

“Why the damned hell should I be worried?”

“I don’t know. Media?”

“Look, the media only know us when there’s a competition or when there’s a medal around our necks. Or if we make a complete fool of ourselves. Now hold my hand.” He reaches his hand out towards me.

“What?”

“You’re gonna skate.”

“I’m already skating.”

“Yeah. Your way of skating is so exciting that you’re only at the edge of the rink, holding onto the wall.”

“Damn you,” I tell him before I take his hand. He gently pulls me and makes sure that I can follow him. He tells me, “Watch my feet and try to do what I’m doing.” I follow him and notice that we make marks on the rink as we keep on skating, as if we want to let _Emptiness_ feel like we will never leave it. I also notice how cold the place is, and that even though _Emptiness_ is cold, Yuri’s hand is warm. It’s actually quite comforting.

I look around and see people who are having fun. I think about my plans again. I also think about my own idea of not letting myself become attached to people. I guess that that is such a selfish wish. I don’t think that I can handle being lonely or alone. It actually feels good to feel that someone cares. I’m talking about Valeria. I’m not sure about Yuri because we’re not really friends. Well, I’m not really sure.

Yuri lets go of me just to see if I can handle myself. I still have a bit of trouble on trying to balance myself, but I do observe a small progress. Yuri starts to skate the way he really skates. For another time, I catch a glimpse of an angel. This time, however, I do not see the greedy angel. I see an angel who’s calm and sees nothing and nobody. He’s in his own world. But we can see him. And we are definitely waiting for him to fly.

I approach the wall and hold onto it. It’s only then that I realize how Yuri has forgotten to teach me how to stop myself from skating or how I can come to a halt. Thus, I was only able to stop myself when I hit the wall. Thankfully, me being able to hold onto it made the impact less worse than I expected it to be. I search for Yuri, wanting to continue watching him. However, he has stopped and he is staring at me, as well as a few others. He skates his way to where I am.

“Oh, I forgot to teach you how to stop,” he gives me an innocent look that looks both adorable and ridiculous.

“How-“

“It was loud enough. Even other people heard it.”

Well there goes my desire to watch him skate.

“That was embarrassing.” I head to the exit and Yuri follows me. We go to the changeroom and remove the skates. I open the locker and take my things. I put my shoes on and wear my backpack. “Thanks for today,” I tell him.

“Whatever.”

“Why didn’t you go home immediately?” I ask him as I watch him take his things from the locker. I see his shoulders move. I notice how he’s actually not that tall.

“Why didn’t _you_ want to go home immediately?” he asks me in return.

I silence myself, knowing that both of us don’t want the other to know about our own problems. We head back to the desk and return the keys. Outside, Yuri and I walk together for a little while.

“Yuri, why do you always look mad?”

Yuri stops walking and faces me. “What do you mean?”

“You almost always look like you want to kill someone.”

“Hag, I was born with this face. It’s not my fault.”

We stay silent for a few seconds before Yuri says something that catches my attention.

“For a Russian woman, you don’t give much of a damn about yourself.”

“I would if I could, but I can’t so I don’t.” I think of Leslie and her lectures about how I should fix myself because it can say a lot about how I see myself. However, how can I if we need money to pay the rent? Leslie is haunting me through the words of a blonde guy, and I somehow feel a bit awkward because of that. I wanted to get my mind off of my family for a moment, but because of Yuri’s comment, I am reminded of Leslie–a part of my family.

I take my phone out and check my messages, only to see the diva’s name in my inbox. I open the message and read what is written. For a moment, I feel sorry for Mom and Leslie even though I shouldn’t. I can’t forgive them, and I don’t want to forgive them. They hurt me so much. I don’t think I can actually pretend that nothing happened.

 **Leslie:** Mom wants to apologize. Make up with her later.


	7. Chapter 7

I ignore the message from Leslie and listen to Yuri’s complaints about me like how I smile too much and how that’s really inappropriate. He even talks about skating, but I can only focus on him, and not on his words. His tone is that of excitement, like he can’t help himself from having this desire to tell me everything about skating. I can almost understand what skating means to him. Yet, when I picture the boy on ice, it does not look like that at all. The skater and the guy in front of me seem different from each other.

Yuri kicks around while his hands are inside his jacket’s pockets. A pinkish shade is seen on the tip of his nose though his hood makes it seem less visible due to the shadow it draw on his face. He is watching other people, as if searching for a familiar face. However, his gaze leaves them when he stops kicking and looks at me seriously.

“Hey, is ‘ _Austra'_ really your name?”

The familiar blue-green eyes that I first saw in the face of a grumpy man meets me. It’s quite nerving how that same face is currently looking at me, but the expression is different. Who was once the guy in front of my desk is now the guy standing in front of me and asking me about my name which is a huge part of my identity.

“Yeah. Austra Stewart. My cousin from my hometown used to tease me about it. He’d look at me and say _Australopithecus_. He’d joke around and say that I’m not that human yet.” Once the words are said, I find myself surprised. I have said more than what is needed to be said; it’s not like me to be talkative about myself. Though this is unusual, I don’t actually regret it.

Yuri is giving me a blank stare, as if wondering about it. He takes his phone out, and I catch him search what an Australopithecus is. He stares at a picture of it. “Austra is a pretty weird yet cool name if you ask me,” he tells me as he hides his phone away.

“I’m not asking you,” I answer him.

Once our gazes meet, I find myself worried at the possibility of offending him with my snarky remarks. Hence the addition of “Kidding. Thanks” to my previous reply. Yuri only nods his head slowly, as though he is in deep thought. Then, he raises another question.

“What made you live here?”

“What?”

“Come on. I’m not dumb. Knowing your name makes it obvious that you’re not from here.”

“That’s none of your business, you know,” I tell him as I cross my arms in front of my chest.

Although the words seem harsh, Yuri isn’t offended. It doesn’t seem like he’s not because he really isn’t; he isn’t because his attention is now somewhere else. His gaze is somewhere else, and I’m at the opposite direction. Hence, realization hits me: Yuri is waiting for someone, and he might have just used me. _I just didn’t want to go home early, so I thought that I should kill some time by comforting you, but damn it_ , that’s what he said, and those were his exact words. He really meant them. He wasn’t waiting for me at all. He didn’t really care. He just used me, and I let him because I was fooled.

He takes his phone out again. This time, it’s just to see what time it is. He turns his head in different directions. The expression on his face changes into one that’s raw. It’s almost like he’s desperate to see whoever it is that he is looking for. Although I am interested in knowing if he is searching for someone, I don’t ask him about it.

When our eyes meet for another time, sadness knocks on the door of my heart. I can’t make it go away because even though it’s knocking, it’s ready to barge in anytime. That’s the thing with sadness: you cannot deny it of access to you and your emotions. It’ll just find different ways of visiting or haunting you no matter how hard you try to prevent it from doing so. It hurts you; leaves just to let you heal; and comes back once you’re okay just to hurt you again. It has mastered the art of torture, as well as the art of ruining everything.

I pretend to look at my wristwatch, only to realize that I have forgotten to wear it again. Having Yuri see me like this makes me feel like I’m making a fool out of myself. I remember his phone and the first time I talked to him–the first time I approached him. Chocolate stares back at turquoise for the nth time. Then my voice greets the silence between us with a string of familiar words.

“Can you tell me what time it is already? I forgot my wristwatch and I have nothing that can tell me.”

He gives me a look of disbelief before taking his phone out and telling me the time. Then, he says, “You have your phone, don’t you? I saw you use it.”

“Oh yeah.” I scratch the back of my head, and feel the need to slap myself for not only looking but also being ridiculous in front of him. Even so, I tell Yuri that I have to go already. The only word that comes out of his mouth is “okay.”

My little journey of going home is peaceful though the noises made by passing cars are heard. I raise my head a little just to look at the sky. There’s really nothing to search for or even admire. But if anything, I want the sky to swallow me. Maybe by then, I’ll belong somewhere. I’m invisible, insignificant and worthless here. _Austra Stewart_ is the name of a nobody. Everyone’s just going to pretend that they care and then leave me hanging by the end just like my own mother.

Finally home, after opening the door to my room, I see Leslie lying on my bed and staring at the ceiling. Catching her invade my privacy made me realize that for a struggling family, to have each of its members have their own rooms is quite odd.

“You’re back,” she says as she sits up and runs a hand through her hair. She tucks a few strands behind her ear. “You and Mom should talk.” She stands up and walks around my room. My four cornered sanctuary is suddenly under scrutiny by my sister.

“Leave me alone,” I tell her as I step inside and close the door.

“Here you go again with your pride,” she says in a singsong voice.

“Go away, Leslie.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Leslie. Just. Leave. Me. Alone. I don’t want to deal with you right now.”

Her annoying singsong voice comes again, saying the same thing, “And if I don’t?”

“Will you please just leave me alone and get out?” I raise my voice, hoping that she figures out that I can’t handle myself anymore. Still, she’s just standing there with her head tilted in my direction. She’s giving me a stare that pierces right through me like she’s seeing everything. She doesn’t reply in a singsong voice, but she says the same words with seriousness: “And if I don’t?”

“What the hell is your problem?” I shout. Her eyes go wide as if she can’t believe that I’m being like this. She shakes her head in disagreement.

“What’s _my_ problem? If there’s anyone here who has a problem, it’s _you_ ,” Leslie movestowards me, and I can tell how mad she actually is. This catches me off guard because there’s almost nothing for her to get upset with. The diva is at it again. She is making it sure that the spotlight’s on her. That’s what she always does. The bright light is hers, and the darkness is mine.

Pissed, I answer back, yet I stop midsentence when she snaps at me. “You don’t even know what’s happening with-“

“You’re right. I don’t. Wanna know why? It’s because you _never_ let us know about anything!” She shoves her pointing finger to my chest for a few times. I’d be lying if I said that the impact of her words and actions isn’t great. “You think that everyone’s reading between the lines, but guess what, Aus, people barely do! Mom’s getting tired of trying to understand you!”

“Then let her get tired of me! I couldn't care less about that.”

“You know what, you’re a fool. Mom’s always here and yet you won’t even try to be nice to her. You’re so far away, Aus. Why do you trust Dad so much when he’s not even here?”

I pause for a moment and think of Leslie’s question which triggers the memories to come back and with them are my tears. The familiar aching of my heart greets me as I remember the sky painted with the shades of orange. It was almost cloudless that day. Dad was holding my hand while we both walked ourselves out of the house, as though we were catching up on something–or rather, someone. Mom was running away with Leslie. Sheused the car and made my sister go inside. There were tears in her eyes, as if she was already regretting what she’s doing. Yet, she still did it.

The funny thing is that Mom and Dad knew what was happening while Leslie and I didn’t. Leslie kept on glancing back at us, reaching her hand out as if there was no distance at all, and shouting, “Dad! Aus!” I cried back then even if I was clueless about anything. Little did I know that that was the ending of a family–of _my_ family.

The back of the car faced us while we saw a poor Leslie watching us from where she was. She was still reaching her hand out, waiting for the awaited hold of a familiar someone–either Dad or me. As the distance grew greater, the blurrier the face of my sister became in my vision. As they got farther, I got more hurt and shocked.

I was left with Dad, and for a long time I kept on wondering why Mom didn’t take me instead. _Wouldn’t she miss me_ , was the question I often thought of. But whenever I did think of it, I’d feel guilty because it felt like even I was abandoning my father. Both Dad and I were abandoned; we were left behind. It’d be cruel of me to leave him, too; even if it’s just through thinking. The days I spent with my father were nothing but awkward mornings and quiet evenings. He was barely at home due to work, but if he were at home, we’d watch TV together or just eat. We’d talk about stuff but never about what happened. It’s almost like neither one of us wanted to talk about it. But then, Mom came back and took me with her. When she did, I could no longer see her as the mother I grew up loving, for I saw her as the mother who left me and hurt Dad.

She and Dad exchanged a few words with Mom having a straight face while Dad had the face of a man who had just lost everything. I hated her for that. She ruined the man, hurt him twice with no mercy at all. She took me away from him even if she couldn’t even raise me and my sister properly by herself. Now, I’m just here with them, and all I want is to be with Dad. Even though the familiarity of silence may overwhelm me, at least I know that the father I want to be with is a parent who won’t abandon me unlike the woman I tolerate each day.

Leslie raises another question even though I haven’t answered the first. Maybe she got tired of waiting for an answer, or maybe she understood that I didn’t want to say anything at all. However, her question is just as difficult as the first.

“Aus, don’t you feel sorry for Mom?”

I stare at Leslie’s face and observe the features of the _pretty_ sibling. Small nose, plumped lips, rounded eyes, a square face shape. She has the common qualities you’d find in models, and she’s good at accentuating them. I, in comparison to her, am nothing but the _other_ girl.

“Why should I?”

“Because you’re giving her a hard time,” she tells me and her expression softens. Gone is the anger. All there is is sadness– _calm_ sadness, and I am affected by the sudden calmness in her, that my voice comes off as a whisper, “Just leave me alone, Les. Please.” She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes as she does. A heavy sigh follows after, and she opens the slits on her face.

“To be completely honest with you, even I am getting tired. It’s almost like I don’t have a sister here. If anything, I feel like you want to get rid of us. Especially after finding out that you plan to study somewhere else.” Leslie crosses her arms in front of her chest. “If you want to study abroad, then go. But don’t do it out of hatred.”

“I don’t hate you.”

A fake smile tugs the corners of her lips. She shakes her head again. This time, she makes it look like I said something stupid. “Please, Austra,” she says, “I know how much you hate me and Mom. It’s obvious. Have you ever thought about how that makes us feel?” She leaves my room after releasing those words that bug me. Although she is gone, her aura is still here.

Why is Leslie good at turning tables and making me look like I’m the wrong one?

I remember the brochures and take them. I think of my father and the trouble he might have gone through just to give them to me. There’s a letter inside the envelope the brochures came with. Written on that letter is just something my Dad wanted to tell me, like how he’s proud of me and how things are going on with him. I like it, though–the feeling that someone actually appreciates me. It’s just something I barely had anymore. It’s something I’m searching for.

The next day comes off with an awkward atmosphere. Leslie doesn’t talk at all during breakfast. She keeps on giving me glances, expecting me to have a conversation with Mom. I ignore her and just finish my meal. At school, I wait for the time to pass by as I try to trick myself into listening and making an effort.

Everything’s a mess. I feel like I’m just wasting myself. There’s this empty feeling inside me, and I can’t shrug it off. It’s just here, ringing and alarming me with its presence. It’s a heavy burden that clings onto me. Though I may hate to admit it, I am troubled by the sight of my mother this morning. There were dark bags under her bloodshot eyes, as if she’d stayed up all night and cried. As nobody talked when we were together, I noticed how her lips would waver like a sob would escape anytime. She looked like she was about to break while Leslie looked like she was trying to be strong for the both of them.

_“I know how much you hate me and Mom. It’s obvious. Have you ever thought about how that makes us feel?”_

I don’t understand it at all. I hate them, and yet I am in pain because of what I am doing. I am supposed to be distant and numb because they are nobody to me once I am gone. Still, this feeling that I made a grave mistake is stabbing me, letting me bleed rue.

The transient, Austra, is conflicted and confused about her own decisions. It will only be soon until she is gone, so why does she feel like there is something here that can still hurt her? Why does she still think about having people care for her? Why is she concerned about the person she’s grown to hate?

Is it really that bad to be the unforgiving daughter when, really, the mother deserves the treatment given to her?


	8. Chapter 8

Passing by other students by the corridors makes me become aware of my own loneliness. There are a lot of people around me, and they are in their own worlds. They are engaged in conversations, interactions and even the exchange of emotions directed to each other. Blank stares, piercing glares, silent confessions, suppressed anger or sadness, disappointing frowns, _a few_ smiling faces; they are all communicating and being communicated to. But there also those who are like myself–who don’t belong to a world because we _are_ our own world.

School is a social battlefield. It is where you see who has allies and who fights alone. I couldn't care less about it, but right now I wish that I can freely talk to someone because I am so torn about my feelings towards my family. However, talking about it to someone will make me feel like I have to share _everything_ to the person. If that feeling knocks me over, then it means that I have gotten attached to someone, and I refuse to be like that.

Going home is not my first option today, since I have this unsettled conflict within me of whether or not I should apologize to my mother. The familiarity of seeking comfort away from home is what guides me to walk away from the usual path I take. And so, I journeyed my way to somewhere else.

Again, the busy streets greet me. Watching cars pass by reminds me of Leslie and our talk last night. For another time I become bothered about my guilt, all until I hear Yuri’s voice. I search for him; when I do catch his presence, my feet immediately lead me to where he is–to where the guy wearing a black shirt, that has an image of a head of a lion in the middle, underneath a dark gray jacket is. He is wearing black stone washed jeans and animal-print sneakers. I actually like his getup, even though his shoes aren’t really doing it for me. Albeit they are odd as a match for his outfit, I find it cute of him for owning a pair of them.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” I tell him.

“Yeah. Neither did I. Where are you going?”

“Nothing in particular. I just don’t want to go home yet.”

Yuri looks around, nudges me to follow him then starts walking. I walk right next to him, understanding that he didn’t want us to block the way.

I take a few glances and wonder as to whether or not Yuri is still attending school. Maybe he’s homeschooled, maybe he’s not. Thinking about it, I realize how his life as a skater is slowly robbing him of his youth. His childhood may have already been sabotaged by his necessary devotion for the sport and the competition since, if I remember correctly, he has been competing even when he was still a child. Has he experienced what most people his age have experienced? Has he made friends around his age? Does he even know how even though he _is_ young he has been made to live like an adult already?

“Are you going somewhere?” I ask him just so I can know if it’s fine for me to walk with him and kill some time _just like how he did when he was waiting for someone._

“No. Just bought some cat food.”

The moment I heard him say ‘ _food’_ , I remembered the chicken nuggets that he gave me yesterday. I haven’t eaten them. In fact, I actually forgot about them. Since the bag that I use for school is not the same bag that I bring with me to work, the box of chicken nuggets is still at home inside the bag that I put aside in my room.

“Cat food? You own a cat?”

“Yeah,” he says, falling silent for a few minutes before he takes his phone out. “Wanna see?”

I give him a nod. He immediately searches for a picture of his pet, showing it to me after having found one. I notice how cute and a tad bit chubby the cat is. It looks so soft and squishy, almost like a stuff toy. I ask him if I can look at other shots. He goes silent for a moment before letting me. I go through other pictures and see one where Yuri is holding the cat close to his chest, smirking as though there is something to be proud about.

“It’s a Himalayan cat. Cool, huh? _Almost_ like a lion.”

I return his phone to him and give him another nod. When he hides his phone away, he asks me if I love cats. Interest sparks in his eyes, that I almost feel pressured to tell him that I do.

“Not really,” I say.

“So you prefer dogs?”

“No. I have never really thought of having a pet. I haven’t even had one. Your cat’s cute, though. _Almost_ like a lion.”

His face softened until I repeated what he had said about his cat, even imitating his stress on the word ‘almost’. He suddenly becomes excited as if I have triggered something in him. I think of the image of a lion on his shirt and find it silly how the person wearing the shirt made me think that he was a lion. It turns out that he is actually a softie when it comes to cats, and also an angel when skating.

“Right, right? It’s cool!”

Even though there is absolutely nothing to smile so merrily about, a huge smile appears on his face and for an instant I catch myself wanting to join him. I am not sure if it is because of me agreeing that his cat is like a lion or he just simply likes his cat that much. Either way, I actually like it. His smile looks so pure, innocent and childlike. It is almost like I want it to last for a couple more minutes. This then gives me an idea that I should know more about cats even if I am pretty sure that I will not be doing anything at all to study about them.

“So when will I teach you how to skate again?” he asks, and somehow this stops me from admiring his smile. I am immediately pulled back to reality because of his question, like someone just threw some cold water on me while I am asleep.

“I only asked you to just to pass some time. Besides, you were waiting for someone.”

“I was. Grandpa and I were supposed to meet then,” he tells me with warmth resonating in his voice. Calmness touches his features, and it catches me off-guard. I catch a glimpse of an angel, reminding me of the guy I watched. It is only then that I notice how beautiful he is. Maybe I haven’t noticed it since I often see him with a serious or grumpy expression.

Yuri stops walking and flinches, then he takes his bag off of him and search for something. He takes a paper bag out of it and reaches it to me. I take it while he zips his bag up and wears it again.

“Take a look,” he says. “Grandpa made them.”

His childlike smile is replaced with a proud smirk, similar to the one in the picture. This gets me to move. I take a look of what is inside the paper bag and all I can see is food. _Again_. I raise my head and see him urging me to get a piece.

“Pirozhki?”

“Just taste it.”

I do as he says. I pick one and take a bite as I hand him the paper bag. As I eat it, I see an excited Yuri. Although it tastes good, I cannot really focus on it; not when there is a blonde guy who looks like he is ready to give me another warm smile.

“It’s good,” I admit. Yuri beams at me, and I am taken aback again. Somehow I am pulling the right strings on how to make Yuri show his childlike side. “Right? Right?” he asks. He takes a piece and eats, too.

We continue to walk beside each other as if we’re good ol’ friends. I find it weird how my loneliness is suddenly interrupted by Yuri’s presence. I do not hate it. In fact, I actually feel like I am comforted–just like when Valeria wanted me to open up to her even if I didn’t do so until the end of the day. My gaze falls on different faces, clothes, shoes and bags. Then I look at the boy beside me who is quiet and is enjoying his pirozhki. He offers me another piece, and I accept it. When his eyes look back to mine, I immediately look away.

Realization hits me: I am enjoying his company.

This brings me to shame. I have always thought that I should not be attached to anyone, but here I am, letting a guy charm me with his innocence. Not only that, he is a guy who seems to be attached to someone–to his grandpa. I did not even notice other people around us until we got silent and just ate our shares of pirozhki. I am afraid of what may happen to me if I were to let myself spend more time with him. My dreams and my ambitions may suddenly get overshadowed by him, even Valeria.

“Yuri, I have to go.”

This takes him by surprise like I just said something random out of the blue. He then tells me that he’ll accompany me, and I let him, thinking of how this will be the last time I will let him distract me–the last time I will let anyone distract me from going away from here. We take a taxi. I tell the driver the place and he starts driving. All the little joys I got a while ago fade away as we go away from our spot. The idea of seeing Mom and Leslie again takes over me, making me get a tad bit nervous for no reason at all.

A frown finds itself on my face. A bright light greets my sight, and I turn to Yuri who is seated next to me at the backseat. His phone is what caused the light. He is looking at pictures again, using Instagram. He takes note of my sudden attention and looks at me.

“Instagram, huh?” I ask him, giving him a small smile. “Stalking someone?”

“No,” he says, shoving his phone to his right pocket. Then, he questions, “Don’t you have an Instagram account?”

“I do. I just barely post anything on it. Want me to follow you?”

A glare is thrown at me, letting me know that I shouldn’t have asked him about it since it was embarrassing to hear. I immediately apologize and he tells me that it’s fine. When we are finally getting near to where I live, frustration and confusion slap me. I still do not know what to do. I picture my mother’s face and feel hurt. I do not want to forgive her, and yet I feel like I want to.

“Hey, Yuri.”

“What?”

“Should you forgive someone you don’t want to forgive?”

Nothing answers me. There is no sarcasm told, no snarky remarks or even preachy replies. Yuri just stares at me, blinking, not knowing what to say. His gaze is sharp as though he is piercing right through my soul. I give him a small smile and tell him not to mind it. When the car stops, I search my bag for my wallet. He grabs my hand, and it is enough to make me freeze on the spot.

“It’s fine. I got it.”

“Sure. Um, thanks.” I open the door, about to get out.

“See you.”

If he only knew that I would start becoming distant and hesitant of his company the next time we see each other, would he still say that? Would he still give me a goodbye that asks for another meeting?

“See you,” I say before leaving and heading inside, not turning back to watch the car go away.

Inside the place, Mom is not around. Neither is Leslie. Even though I didn’t want to see them, I didn’t get relieved at their absences. It made me feel worse, actually. Like they have abandoned me when _I_ should be the one abandoning them. I go to my room and take the chicken nuggets from my other bag. I eat them with little regret for having forgotten about them. They would have tasted better if I ate them immediately.

I am reminded of Yuri and his skating then I think of Yuri’s smiling face and find myself guilty of my plan to avoid him. It’s for his and my own good, though, since being attached to someone and then suddenly abandoning him would give great pain. I want to leave. I am certain of my plans. I just don’t want anything and anyone to sway me, and I most especially do not want to be like my mother. Therefore I should stop acting like I have buddies here.

Valeria is not my friend. Yuri is not my friend. I have no one but myself.


	9. Chapter 9

I never knew that being at home without seeing Mom and Leslie around whenever I got back from school could make me feel so wretched. Relief was supposed to wash over me, not yearning. When they _are_ around I cannot look at them straight in the eye. It is almost like I have done something that I do not want them to find out about even if I have done nothing at all. Even so, the days go by with me being inside my four-walled haven, doing assignments, avoiding my own family, and planning for the day I get to meet my dad.

Saturday morning has come for me, along with a heavy feeling that I cannot seem to ignore. It is like something is swallowing me into nothingness, like I am being sucked out of my own body. The slightest of movements makes me want to stop and just sleep again. There is not much to look forward to except for another day of tolerating everything. The first thing that I think about is how to treat Yuri and Valeria later. I have to limit my own interactions with them, and they must also get the message that I do not want to be friendly with anyone.

I head to the kitchen and see that our breakfast has been prepared already. Sandwiches are on one plate while three mugs of coffee are on the side. Leslie is leaning against the counter, looking at me with her doe-ish eyes, waiting for me to speak. She watches my every movement, almost like she is observing me under a microscope. She lowers her head, smiles to herself, moves away from the counter, and nods.

“You’re so cold, Aus.” She gives me a pat on my arm, acting all proud of me even though it is obviously pure sarcasm. She goes away after that, leaving me in front of a table carrying a plate with quickly-done sandwiches and three mugs of possibly-no-longer-warm coffee inside a kitchen that is making me feel small. Leslie’s presence did not go with her, however. As I sit in front of the rounded table covered with cheap red and white polka-dotted table cloth, I still feel watched by my sister. Even when I take two sandwiches I feel like someone is anticipating me to eat, judging me as I do.

Mom enters the kitchen just in time when I am finally done. Pain knocks on my door again, and I hear the cries it is making. As I pass by my mother, I hear another sob from her. This makes me run to my room, searching for the brochures Dad gave me. I hug them close to my chest, not wanting to let go. I close my eyes because of being aware that I am about to cry. It feels like someone is crushing my heart, and that I am about to burst into tears. It feels like I want her to forgive me when it should be the other way around.

My day does not get any better at work. Valeria greets me cheerfully, trying to strike a conversation with me whenever she can, but all I do is avoid her or just shut her out with boring replies of “Okay,” or “I didn’t know that.” Yuri, on the other hand, approaches the desk by himself while Yakov and Lilia head to the rink. The blonde guy acknowledges me, and it is enough to remind me of the pain I felt when I heard my mother’s whimpers. Guilt barges in on me, and I can tell that my eyes are getting watery again.

“Oh, it’s Yuri,” Valeria stands next to me, pleased to see the punk. “He has his own skates now. Wait, let me get them.” I grab Valeria’s wrists, stopping her from going away. “No. Let me,” I smile at her.

“It’s fine,” she reassures me. “I’ll be back immediately.”

Yuri is not playing around with his phone this time. He is just staring at me with his sharp eyes. It is almost like he can tell that there is something wrong with me even though I know that people will never be able to realize that. They will all be too late once they find out, and I would have been gone by then. Yet here I am with eyes that are about to shed some tears, and a heart crumpling just by seeing the man I plan to ignore the most. Ignoring Valeria was hard enough. Ignoring Yuri is harder, especially after spending some time with him the other day.

“Hey, are you okay?” he asks, his eyebrows furrowed. His voice shouts concern–one thing that only Valeria has given me so far except for today since she does not seem to have realized that I have been avoiding her. The simple question triggers something in me, enough to make me cry. Yuri’s face turns into that of surprise. He takes a look around as if he is looking for a suspect. Then he sees to it that there is no line behind him.

“Oi, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m fine,” I tell him, wiping the tears away with my hand.

“Don’t mistake me for a fool, you hag.”

Yuri stands there, searching for something in his pocket then his bag. He reveals a handkerchief with a cheetah’s skin as its design. This makes me want to look at his shoes, only to find out that he is wearing the same shoes he had worn when we talked about his cat. He offers me his hankie as he avoids my gaze. Valeria comes back just in time. When she sees me her eyes go wide. I immediately tell her that it is nothing. She gives Yuri’s skates to him while the guy is waiting for me.

“I don’t need your help,” I tell him before leaving the desk just to hide inside the staffroom and cry for a little bit. Remembering Yuri’s expression after being rejected crushes me even more. Knowing that I have been rude to Valeria, who has been a good co-worker, slaps me with so much guilt. I stay inside for a few minutes until I am finally sure that I am not going to cry in front of people. I continue working, thinking of the money that I’m going to earn and save.

The day continues with undeniable awkwardness that stabs me. Valeria stops asking me questions. Yuri does not talk to me. Home is filled with the absence of my sister and my mother. And the only thing that I think of doing is running to my room, searching for the brochures and my dad’s letter, so I can calm myself down and convince myself that everything I am feeling right now will never be something I am going to feel in the future. But if Dad were to abandon me, I don’t think I’d be able to handle it at all. As much as I am breaking right now, I am confident that being with my father will fix me as long as he stays.

I clutch at the brochures and letter as if they are what keeps me from falling apart. I pull them to me closer, hoping that they won’t leave me–hoping that _he_ won’t leave me.


	10. Chapter 10

Mom looks like she is about to break down every time I see her. Leslie shoots me a glare whenever she can. Valeria gives me some space. Yuri tortures me with blank stares. Dad has not yet replied after I asked him if he could visit me here in Russia, with only the two of us knowing about that. And I am still alone.

I don’t think that having ambitions should make me feel so miserable, so why am I cursed with so many things to feel–to suffer with? Shouldn’t I be happy?


	11. Chapter 11

Spending my time inside a bookstore when I am _afraid_ of going home is both calming and unnerving; calming because I can breathe here without feeling holed up in a place full of misery, and unnerving because of the realization that I have nobody and nowhere to run to. I go to different shelves, eyeing novels of various categories. I distract myself by admiring the covers of other books, debating which one is the best and which one is the worst. There are books that have covers that are too plain, that look like someone just decided to use his photograph or a photograph he found, that come off like someone has lost his creativity, that use the galaxy’s skin, and that look like they were forced to get published.

As I roam around, I see a brunette talking to a friend. She is holding a book, one that has a red thumbtack on a map as its cover. There is a smile on her face as she and her friend talk. She puts the book back on the shelf then leaves, still having a conversation with her company. I am envious of her for a minute, since I do not know if I have friends or if I have anyone at all. Despite that, my curiosity over the book she returned gets the best of me.

I head over to the shelf and take it, reading what is written at its back. Paper Towns. It talks about a guy who just suddenly discovers that the girl he likes has become a “mystery” one day, and he tries to track her down based on the “clues” left for him. It does not take me a lot of time to be convinced that I have to have this book. It calls to me, making me feel like I may find an answer among its pages even though I have no question at all. So I go over to the cashier and pay for it. After buying the book, I go home and confine myself in my hideout. I plop myself on my bed then start reading.

The story of the book is slightly near where _‘complicated’_ exists. You have two childhood friends, Margo and Quentin, who drifted apart. The guy, Quentin or Q, happens to like Margo while she has a boyfriend. One night Margo climbs into his room, asking for help. They get her “revenge” from people she thinks deserve it, including her relationship partner. Then after that they have a short sweet scene together where they finally get to talk to each other _properly_. Q is thrilled for the next day to come, especially since he thinks that he might actually have a chance with Margo. But just like that, the girl disappears.

Although I still want to read, my eyes are about to close already and shut themselves, soI fold the upper right corner of the last page that I read. I put my book aside and rest, sleeping my way through the night. At school, I read the book on my free time. I am drowning with the words, the letters, and even the punctuations. I have become engrossed in this tiny treasure, that I almost believe that I am forgetting my problems.

What has probably caught my attention is Margo, the female protagonist–if you can consider her as one, and her sudden disappearance. I relate myself–my soon-to-be self who is going to leave everyone–to her. As pages are turned, more mysteries of the girl arise. Q is off to find her–to find the girl who left and seemingly wanted him to know where she was. He has his friends with him, and they go on a road trip just to look for her. This, I have to say, lessens my fondness of the story. _All this for a crush_ , I think. If Margo weren’t beautiful or popular, would Q and his friends care at all? I don’t think so.

The story then gives me a small message of how people will only try to find you _because_ of a reason they give themselves with. They will only search for you _because_ they think of you as someone they can either use or date. This crushes me a tad bit. When I am finally out of this town, nobody is going to search for me. I have no Q, and I am not Margo. There’s too much for people to care, and I am too less of a concern for anyone at all. I am as good as dead if I were to leave. I want to leave, but I also want people to be affected by my absence.

Free time is too short for me to finish reading the entire book. By the time dismissal comes I pack my things and go home, ready to continue reading. However, my plans are changed when I see a blonde guy standing in front of the apartment. He is wearing a blue jacket, staring at the entrance of the building. His face is as serious as it can get, revealing how deep in thought he is. I slow down with walking, watching the man if he is planning to leave anytime soon. He isn’t. In fact, there he is, still staring, looking like he is willing to wait for the person to come out or arrive. He turns his head to the left direction, searching for someone. When he is about to look at my direction I immediately turn around, but I am too late on doing so because I hear someone calling me. I give up and just face him.

“Oi, what the hell is wrong with you?”

I try to move past him, but the look in his eyes makes me freeze. He has this upset and angry look on his face, like he needs an explanation for something that I have done against him. Surprisingly, it is enough to let all the feelings Paper Towns has overshadowed come to light again.

“What happened?” His question is of concern, yet he seems like he is shouting his words at me.

“Why do _you_ care? It’s nothing that you should concern yourself with.” I want to leave Yuri. I know how this works. _Open up and you’ll end up getting attached_. That is not what I need right now. What I need is a distraction, and somehow the book is slightly able to act like one. I do not need a person. I need to get away from Yuri.

I expect him to be silent or quiet, not able to think of an answer. Yet he raises his eyebrows like I am a stupid person who just asked a stupid question that he has to answer with an obvious reply. And the string of words is: “You were okay the other day and then you just became like that! Cold and distant! Look, it’s fine if you don’t tell me the reason, but are you really alright?”

Are we fighting? “It doesn’t concern you. I don’t need your help. Go away.”

He blocks my path again, with his eyes pinning me to where I am, like the cover of the book; I am his map, and he is my thumbtack. He has to leave, so the wind can carry me somewhere else. But how do you remove a thumbtack when you are powerless against it? _You wait for someone or something to remove it_ , I think.

“Why don’t you want to forgive that person?” he asks. Surprise hits me because of the realization that, although Yuri didn’t give me an answer the last time I asked him if he should forgive someone he didn’t want to forgive, he actually _listened_ to me. He _thought about it_ , and he still _remembers_ it.

My eyes travel down to his shoes, seeing that it’s another pair of animal-print. I remember the time he reached out his hankie for me to use, yet I refused. Now here he is, arguing with me, asking me if I’m alright, and questioning me about something I said. This blonde guy is here _trying_ to comfort me, not make up with me. He thinks that I am only like this because of a problem of mine, not because of not wanting to associate myself with him. He thinks that we are actually friends. _He_ is _attached_.

The thumbtack buries itself. The map cannot escape. The wind may try to take it away, but it can’t. Something is making it stay. _Yuri_ is making _me_ stay.

With all honesty, a tiny part of me is pleased and does not want to push him away. It makes me want to trust him, to let him get past my walls. This makes me realize that Yuri is not the only one attached to someone. _This_ makes me realize that _I_ , myself, _may_ have also been attached to him even before I started avoiding him. A part of me may have known that because it is when I am with him that I start thinking about how I shouldn’t be close to anyone, just to remind myself that I have to limit my interactions with people–so I may deny myself of him. It makes a lot of sense, but it does not bring good news to me. However, remembering the days I am drenched in loneliness and sadness without having anyone to rely on makes me want to at least make one person an exception. _As long as you won’t be like your mother_ , I remind myself.

“You were almost like a lion, Yuri.” A smirk escapes from me. “Almost. No wonder you’re just a tiger.” A loud “huh?” comes from him with his eyes wide yet his eyebrows furrowed. I shake my head, smiling at him.

Just one friend is enough, right?

“I am not alright,” I admit. Tears surface themselves on my eyes, but my smile does not fade. In fact, it gets bigger. I repeat it, listening to my voice as I say the words. Hearing myself say that to someone makes me feel a myriad of emotions. I have never told anyone that. Nobody has ever gotten me to say that until this moment. Yet here I am, allowing myself to trust this punk.

Yuri’s face softens, as though he is calmed by my confession. Then he flinches. He takes his handkerchief and offers it to me. The design is the same as the pattern of his shoes. Unlike before, I take it and wipe my tears away with it.


	12. Chapter 12

Yuri and I head to the park because of my request. I walk with my head hanging low while being aware that he is eyeing me from time to time with a confused look. He is probably thinking how weird I must be. He is silent, yet I think that he has a lot of things going on in his head. We both sit on a bench as we are accompanied by awkward silence. I raise my head and look at him. We stare at each other for a few minutes, neither one of us breaking the staring contest. When I finally get the feeling that I cannot last any longer, I call him a jerk _because he made me violate a rule that I have set for myself._ His confused look gets worse.

“I am not understanding anything right now.” His reply has a dropping tone, making me wonder if he said what he said out of confusion or as a complaint. He takes his hands up just to tie half of his hair. “You are such a complicated and moody person.” Once he’s done tying his hair, he shakes his head a bit just to know if he has done it properly. He runs his hand through them, making sure that it is not messy.

“I don’t need your help. Go away.” He mocks me. “Yet here we are at the park because of _your_ silly wish.” He places his hands at the back of his head for support and leans against our seat. He is not smiling, glaring or frowning. I cannot really tell what he is thinking or feeling.

“Oi, what the hell is wrong with you?” I imitate him and his expression back then. He looks at me with wide eyes, embarrassment written on his face. “I don’t know, Yuri. Wouldn’t it be tempting to trust a person who came all the way to where you live just to know if you’re okay? Especially if he can still remember what you said a few days ago.”

“Hey, shut up! Shut up!” he yells. He is about to cover his ears, but I stop him by grabbing his arm and telling him that I meant what I said. He retrieves his arm, gets silent and looks at the sky. I do, too, just to find my thoughts–to find myself.

My eyes are puffy due to crying before, hence making me feel tired. I almost want to sleep until I am guaranteed that I am finally okay. I guess I am going to hit the bed later instead of Paper Towns.

“Won’t your parents worry about you not being at home yet?” Yuri asks, still having his eyes marveled by the sky. His question pinches my heart a bit, hurting it with the reality of my situation–of belonging to a broken family.

“Parent,” I correct him. “I live with my mother and sister. And no, I don’t think they’ll worry at all. They might not even notice me at all if they were both at home.”

He falls deep in thought, as if he is solving a problem he wants to fix. “Are they the ones you can’t forgive? Or is it your father?” He has connected the pieces together before I can even reveal them to him.

“Them. Especially my mother.” I pause for a moment, thinking if I should talk more. Having someone listen to me talk about myself is pretty new to me. It has been a while ever since I let my guard down–ever since I actually trusted someone; and it is still difficult even though I do want to trust Yuri. “She’s terrible. And yet it hurts me to see or hear her cry. My sister, on the other hand, is a bitch.”

“Maybe a part of you cares about your mother.”

“Sadly, I do not want that to be true. Mom is not my biggest fan.” Yuri shifts in his seat, his silence deafening me so suddenly. The aura around him changes. His expression becomes different, looking like the guy, himself, has secrets that he is hiding, and that I have cracked one of them. But what exactly?

“What about your sister?” He changes the topic. Now this is what I am used to: people asking me about something or someone else. It hurts a bit, even though I am glad that we are not talking about my mother. There is just something that seems so wrong when Yuri is the one asking. Maybe I am expecting too much from my _friend_.

“Beautiful. Liked by many. Loved by Mom. Bossy.” Bitchy, and pretty much someone I will never ever be. She is the diva of drama and attention. Please don’t be interested in her.

“That sounds like Piggy. Minus the ‘bossy’ part.” I am relieved that he has not chosen to dwell upon my sister as the topic.

“Piggy?”

“Just a rival. He has gotten surprisingly better ever since Viktor started coaching him. He better not get cocky because of that.” He crosses his arms then looks at me, focusing on me only.

“Do you hate him?” I ask. This makes him give me a disagreeing face.

“What? Hell no. I just can’t stand him most of the time, but I don’t really hate him. If anything, I can’t stand JJ the most.” He takes note of my confused look, knowing that I am clueless about the names he is telling. “Another skater. He does this stupid thing where he puts his hands like this and says ‘It’s JJ style!’ with a huge smile right after. He looks so stupid yet people dig him. He has a huge fanbase. That bastard.” Yuri has his arms crossed and the letter J formed by his fingers. Unlike what he is saying, he is not smiling at all. Disgust is written on his face, along with annoyance.

“Is he good, though?”

“Yeah. You can say that. But he is irksome.” He puts his hands down.

“I guess my sister is both of them combined.”

“Impossible. Piggy is the exact opposite of JJ.”

“I see. But anyway…” I make myself sit properly, lean in slightly with my hands gripping the edge of the bench, as if securing myself to stay. I return his handkerchief which I kept hidden in one of my pockets. “Thanks, Yuri.” It actually feels nice not to be lonely.

I stretch my arms and yawn, feeling sleepy. “Now I have to get home even if I don’t want to.” I stand up. “You don’t have to go with me, by the way.”

“It’s fine,” he tells me. “I’m only going to feed my cat later, anyway.” He is looking at me from where he is sitting with his legs spread to the side like the punk he is, not caring about my–or anyone else’s–opinion.

“Are you glaring at me?”

“What? Why the hell should I?”

“You look like you are.” I tell him. His brows are furrowed again. He sighs. He stands up and walks ahead of me, telling me that he will accompany me, and ignoring my reply.

We take a taxi because both of us don’t really feel like walking so much, especially now that it’s starting to get dark. I am then reminded of the time he accompanied me on going home–the time when I just suddenly thought of distancing myself from him.

The driver has his radio on, and a country-ish song is playing. The music is not that loud, but it seems to silence everything around me. The music makes me feel like the ride back home is an escape from a tiny bit of freedom. Pain slowly slaughters the numbness of my world, so I can be reminded that this calmness–this serenity–is only temporary. I look at the view of the window, watching the fading places get replaced by those that came next. Did Leslie notice that when Mom took her away? Did Mom notice that when she came back for me? Probably not, just like how they can’t notice my pain. They are too selfish and dreamless.

“My mother isn’t really my biggest fan, either.” Yuri surprises me and pulls me back to reality. “But I have gramps.” That sweet and pure smile of his is back. Even though what he said is pretty sad, knowing that he is happy and content with his grandfather stops me from pitying him. It actually makes me glad for him.

“And I have my father,” I say, remembering that I should log in on Facebook later. “Hey, you’re a professional skater, right? Why don’t you have your own skates?”

“Lost them.”

“You lost them?”

“Yeah, so what? Everybody loses something,” his tone is rising, almost seeming like he is mad at me. “I also wanted to know what it’s like to use skates that aren’t specifically mine. Will they change my performance? Will I get worse or better?”

The driver finally stops, making Yuri and I look outside and see the apartment building.Yuri tells me that he’s paying for it. I stare for a little while before opening the door. Just as I am about to get out, he calls me. This leads my attention back to Yuri who is busy with his phone again.

“Hey. If it kills you to see them hurt that badly, you can just pretend that you’re okay with them even though you’re not.” I almost want to tell him that it’s not that simple, but I stop myself. I may want to trust him, but not entirely. There is a limit. There will always be a limit.

When I finally get out, Yuri calls me again. This time, his eyes are on me. He raises his phone, and I do not understand him. I mouth him a ‘What?’

“Idiot. Number.”

“Do you really have to call me an idiot?” I ask. I take his phone and he takes mine. We exchange numbers before giving back the phones. He gives me a nod.

It’s fine, right? It is just a number. Nothing wrong can come out of it.

“See you,” he says, reminding me of the exact moment he said that before–the moment I got hesitant of his company. And now here I am, parting with him, but no longer that hesitant, no longer avoidant, yet still a little bit cautious.

“See you,” I tell him. This time, I really mean it.

The taxi leaves while I take my phone out again to check my Facebook messenger just to see if Dad has replied yet. He hasn’t. But he has already seen the message. Different ideas go over my head regarding why he hasn’t talked back. Perhaps he is busy; maybe he is going to surprise me; he probably clicked on it but didn’t really read it. All my thoughts are about reasons as to why he has not replied and not about why he _may not want_ to reply. Dad and I have each other. No one will betray the other. I am sure. I just have to give him some time.

Mom and Leslie aren’t home yet. I prepare myself some food and eat, letting my empty stomach have its fill. I head to my room, plop myself on my bed and sleep, trying to escape from the remaining time of the day; trying to escape from my life; however, my disappearance is only for a few hours. Around 4 am, I wake up and check my phone for Dad’s message. Still, I have none. After that, I take my book from my bag.

Words fade away as I browse through different pages, searching for the last one that I read. It makes me notice how far I have gotten in the book. There are only a few more pages left for me to read–a few more pages for me to distract myself. Once I finally find the page with a folded part on the upper right corner, I continue reading.

Quentin and his friends find Margo–or her car. They find her inside a barn. She looks different from before, and I am not sure if she looks better or not since I cannot really trust Q’s narration. Margo is a wonderful mystery to him. _Always_ on the good side. He might not see the real her because he is too much into the Margo he is in love with, not the Margo she really is. At least he realizes that.

I love Lacey and Ben’s reactions to Margo, with Lacey telling Margo how worried she was and Ben saying that Margo should have just let them know that she was fine so they could not have wasted their time. That is the reality. Nobody is happy when they find someone who left okay because nobody knows what it’s like to leave for the sake of disappearing–that is the case of Margo, and also mine. However, the problem with Margo is this: her obsession for leaving clues makes her look like she wants to be found, that she wants a savior. Also, no runaway should leave when everyone knows her or when she can hear her name all over the place. It will only make people be more curious of her and search for her. If Margo really wanted to disappear, she should have blended amongst the crowd. That is why I do not want to be Margo, and it’s a good thing that I’m not like her. Margo’s escape is a tragedy for her because she got found.

Q is unbelievable. He blurs the truth to actual people who run away or even those who want to. I hate Q for making a reader feel like there will always be someone out there who is going to analyze you, see you in ways nobody can, and search for you. But I do like him for admitting that he has fooled himself with ideas of her.

His friends have gone while Margo and Q still talk. Hell, they even kiss. This disgusts me and makes me even more dismayed. In fact, the ending makes me hate myself for being into the book–for thinking that maybe, just maybe, I can see myself or I can find myself here. The book is a huge disappointment. It is pretentious and treacherous. But then again, what did I actually expect from it? For Margo to be like me? For Q to give up? For Margo’s parents to regret how shitty they treated Margo?

I close the book and hide it in one of my drawers. I go to the kitchen to make some breakfast. Mom is there, sitting in front of the table, sipping some coffee. When she sees me, tears surface on her eyes. I notice how red they are and how tired she looks. Her hair is a complete mess and her eye bags are obvious. Still, I ignore her. That is all until she talks to me with a fragile voice. “Can’t you really forgive me?”

Her question makes me freeze on my spot with my heart immediately crumpled. I have to force myself to move and pretend that I heard nothing just to let her know that I am strong enough not to fall for her tricks. _That I am strong enough to be able to leave them_. I take a few eggs from the refrigerator and cook for a few minutes. When I am done, I put them on three plates. I put them on the table.

Mom sobs. Every gasp is a sharp knife burying itself to my heart. She covers her face with her hands, as though she is trying to hide me in the darkness. Her voice is heard. It is wavering, revealing just how emotional and vulnerable she is. It pains me to witness her like this. I eat my breakfast immediately and fool myself into thinking that I am not hearing or seeing anything. When I am done, I put my plate on the sink and head to the room, only to pass by Leslie who has watery eyes. She gives me a face of disapproval.

I go to the bathroom to prepare myself for school. While the water hits my skin, my tears are sliding down my cheeks. It hurts so, so much. There is just nothing but pain. I almost want to hate myself for being like this. Why am I affected? Why am I hurt?

 _“Maybe a part of you cares about your mother.”_ Yuri’s words haunt me. They suffocate me. Not because they are offensive, but because somehow a little part of me is aware of that.

I cry my heart out in the shower, refraining myself from letting a sound escape from me. When I am done, I dress myself up, take my bag, phone, brochures and some extra money, then I run–away from home, away from my crying mother, away from school and away from everything. I let the wind welcome me with open arms, telling it that I want to be gone. The adrenaline is rushing through my veins while my thoughts are racing and my feet are chasing the path. I take my phone out, still checking if my father has replied. He hasn’t.

There is nothing in my inbox, but I have a message request on Instagram–which I haven’t been actively using. I open it and see a username that rings a bell: yuri-plisetsky. I stop running and check the message out. It is a picture of his cat.

The punk didn’t message me last night because he searched for my Instagram account. The map is desperate for the wind’s help yet here is the thumbtack, making sure that it is still around.

This makes me stop running and stare at the sky, calming myself down. It makes me pause and think that I am wasting my time. I shouldn’t be absent from school. I should have good grades, so I can be sure that I can study somewhere else–so I can be sure that I can be with Dad again.

I change my route and head to school, not caring if I’m gonna be late or not as long as I get there. I take a picture of my path and send it to him, letting him know about my day–letting him know that I haven’t run away. I will let him stop me for now because this is not yet my grand escape. If this is, I will continue running and no message can stop me.


	13. Chapter 13

I gather my things, preparing myself to leave school. Everyone has blurred faces in my eyes, and nobody is significant enough to make me see them differently just as how I cannot make them see me properly. Voices hang around the air, but none of which is directed to me. Most people are harmonizing while I am keeping my own melody. The same battlefield lies ahead–cliques, groups, friends bond together. And here I am, the girl who has her own world–the girl with her own army which is herself.

The school is a maze. There is no immediate exit. The walls stand high and tall, proud of themselves for keeping anyone away from outside. Perhaps it is to frustrate us for the short loss of freedom that we get inside. When we are taught, we are manipulated to think that something is right. If we think otherwise, then we are wrong. It is almost like we go to school to get hypnotized and fed with ideas that they want us to have, do or think.

As my feet do their little race, my head is full of thoughts of what I should do: to forgive and tolerate, or ignore and suffer. That moment in the bathroom where I had to cry silently as pain tried to slaughter me is the worst. Do I always have to hide my pain? Do I always have to force myself to be strong? These days, the truth is hitting me in the hardest possible ways. I am not strong, just trying.

Once the familiar cold, along with the wind, gives me a warm embrace, I know by then that I am finally outside, free from the pressure of grades, teachers and classmates. I continue thinking about what I should do. When I finally make up my mind, I head home.

Searching for the laptop is the first thing that I do. It isn’t actually that hard since it’s just in my mom’s bedroom. I take it and open a new document in Microsoft Word just to type “I’M SORRY” and take a screenshot of it. After that, I search for the image file and use it as the laptop’s wallpaper. Even though I am already done, I don’t return the laptop yet just to go to Youtube and search for videos of JJ. The guy is rather handsome. He has a song called Theme of King JJ, and it sounds nice, to be honest. I can actually imagine the guy driving through a town at high speed while the stars are twinkling brightly for him as though his path is his only. Even so, there is something off about him. Perhaps it’s because Yuri told me that he is full of himself, and with my searches, he does seem like that.

Next in my search list is Yuri. Although the only person I am planning to watch is the blonde punk, another Yuri is hitting the search bar–Yuri Katsuki who is a Japanese skater. A performance of his captures me and my emotions. It starts with a faint sound of the piano, with sadness seducing everyone. Then as time passes by, the piano starts to sing louder while the skater starts to bring forth grace. He doesn’t look like he is skating the song, for he _is_ the song–that is what he is making me feel, and that is what punk Yuri lacks a bit despite him being grace himself when on the ice. The piano gets loud then soft over and over. The tone is all over the place, yet it sounds so human. How can a simple song sound like that? Like it can get hurt, happy or upset; like it is the consciousness of everyone. The song is called Yuri on Ice, and a little part of me wants to know what it’d be like if the tiger were to perform it. I wanna know what the song would be like with Yuri Plisetsky.

I click on another link–a link about the blonde performing a song called Agape at the Grand Prix. At the start, he raises his left hand. Then he does this move that makes him look like he is caressing himself while thinking of someone he loves. He turns around then skates. I can’t believe my eyes. The man does not seem like the punk that I know. He seems like a different person. He raises his hands during twirls, spins and jumps, as though they are his wings, and he wants to fly. He really looks like an angel, and the song justifies that. He looks so lost, not because he is somewhere foreign to him, but because he is not with the person he loves. It is almost like he is shouting that he is searching for that person, wanting to make sure that he or she is alright, not caring if danger were to come to him. At the end, he raises his hands together, as if to beg for a prayer. _An angel begging for a prayer_. The performance is immaculate. _He_ is immaculate. I also commend the song for being beautiful–enough to give me goosebumps.

“What is it with skaters and their good taste in music?” I ask myself. I close the browser,take my phone out, take a picture of the screen then shut down the laptop. I send it to Yuri, who has sent me a picture of passing cars.

Going out of the room, Leslie sees me. She completely ignores me just as I ignore her. As soon as I get to my room, I receive a reply from Yuri. It is a simple picture of a thumbs up. I give him a thumbs down just to annoy him. He quickly replies with a picture of his middle finger. I do the same. He sends me another one. This time I can see his face. He is glaring while raising his middle finger in both hands.

I remember Paper Towns and send a picture of it to him, just to let him know that it’s the book that I read. Little do I know that that picture is going to make me have to spend a day with him after my shift tomorrow because after seeing it, he asks me if I have watched it; hence breaking our record of replying using images. When I tell him that I haven’t, he tells me that he has a copy. In fact, he asks me if I want to watch it.

And I, being the person who wants to be away from home, say yes.


	14. Chapter 14

Around midnight, arms are wrapped around me, disturbing me from my sleep. I can feel someone’s face against my back, and I can tell that it is Mom. Soft sobs escape her lips, and they are sounds that I have become familiar with. Even though I have already given her an apology despite the fact that I should not have been the one who apologized since she was the one at fault, the anticipated peace that I am waiting for does not come to me because there is this small existence of pain. It is barging in on me again, and I can’t keep it away. I close my eyes, not wanting to face my mother, and not wanting her to know that I am awake.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, moving closer to me to tighten her embrace. As I am caged, I can’t help myself from reminiscing about the time she used to hold me in her arms whenever I wanted to sleep. She would even play with my hair, move my bangs away from my forehead, run her fingers through them. Sometimes we would talk about random things like my problems in school regarding the subjects or the unfair and biased mentors; the annoying girls in class who happen to be popular at the same time; my dreams which are now different; the time Dad will come home and why he is most often late; news about my favorite celebrities; trends that I happen to dislike and like; the difference between Leslie and I and why we shouldn’t compare ourselves with each other; the culprit in the case of who stole some money from Mom’s purse–who happens to be both Leslie and me, mostly Leslie; and the list goes on. Mom and I used to be really, really close. It’s funny how our closeness back then has gotten different. I am no longer the one she cares that much about. She’s all for Leslie now while I am desperate to slip away from her.

She gives me warmth and sets my mind at ease, yet the pain is still with me, not letting go of my heart. Here is the woman who holds me just to let me know that she can push or hurt me even in her act of love. Her arms are around me, as if to make sure that I still exist in her world. As she braces my small existence in the room, my mind is traveling to a universe where Mom and Dad are still together. Sometimes I wonder what it’d be like if Mom never left and if she stayed with Dad, or what it’d be like if she never took me away from Dad. Would I still be like this? Would I still feel like I don’t belong to a place I _should_ belong to? What and who would I be?

I do not notice that I have fallen asleep until I wake up with no one but a ghost of who was there beside me. I make my bed, noticing the pressure of the weight of someone’s head on my pillow and the weight of someone’s body on my bed. My mother was here, and she apologized in a whisper. I am here, and I am reminding myself of the woman who reminded me of the mother I used to love.

Going outside my room surprises me with the smell of pancakes. Leslie greets me with a smile. “Turns out that all you need is forgiveness to have pancakes,” she kids as she turns off the television. She heads to the kitchen, while I search for the dying clock–the one we always try to revive with batteries, just to see if I’m about to be late. I’m not.

I go to the kitchen and see my sister already starting on her share of pancakes. The smell seduces me and my hunger. My mother gives me a small smile as she waits for me to take my place. Once I am finally seated, it is only then that she starts to eat. I can see her eyes getting watery again, but they don’t seem to be tears of sadness.

Leslie is just eating, not looking up or even smiling. It is almost like she is forced to ignore us. By the moment she is finished, she puts her plate by the sink. She leans against the counter, crosses her arms and says, “You better hurry up. I want to finish washing the dishes immediately.” She is no longer cheerful unlike how she was when I saw her by the couch. She has a blank expression, one that I cannot read at all. I start eating, and she looks away. Mom, on the other hand, has finished, as well. She takes a sip from her cup of coffee, looking content with the start of the day.

As soon as I finish, I pass her my plate and prepare myself for work. I take a shower, dress myself, grab my things and leave. I do not even bother on telling them that I am going already since it doesn’t matter that much.

The same views greet me: passing people, hurrying cars, lifeless buildings. None of these can ever notice my insignificant existence. Everything is just there, and I am witnessing them, not experiencing. No glances are thrown over to me, as though I do not exist at all. This is supposed to be good since it will only make my escape better for no attachment clings unto me–well, except for Yuri. However, there is still this part of me that wants someone to find me–to notice me amidst the crowd and just get to know me. I am envious of people who walk with people. I am envious of those who can get people to see them. I am envious of people like Leslie.

At work, Valeria checks out the boxes at the staff room. I entertain the people by the desk. When Yuri arrives, I try my best to pretend that we did not plan anything after this. He does the same. I notice that there are two more people with them. It is the same guy that I saw with Yakov back then when Yuri did not practice skating here. He has blue eyes and a very serious expression. He is talking to Yakov. Next to the guy is a woman with auburn hair. I can’t help myself from staring at her because she is gorgeous. She has soft features, nothing sharp at all. She has big blue eyes, a slim build, pink lips, and long eyelashes. Her hair is even wavy by the tips. She is looking somewhere else, as if she is in deep thought about something important to her.

“Skates,” Yuri says.

“Yeah, right,” I snap out of my moment of being in a daze with the woman. I leave the desk, and just a few steps away, I trip. I hear Yuri’s voice–his loud voice. “Hey! What the hell?” It is enough to get his company’s attention. I stand up and pretend that nothing happened. I almost want to throw my shoes at Yuri because of attracting his companions’ attention to me. I get his skates while Valeria walks to me, having two pairs of skates, as well.

“Mila and Georgi are around, right? I had to search for their skates,” she tells me. We both go to the desk and an awkward atmosphere surrounds us. Yuri is blinking, the woman is staring at me, the guy and Yakov stop talking, Lilia is watching. As I hand over Yuri’s skates while Valeria gives the other two theirs, the pretty woman asks me, “Are you okay?” I give her a nod. “Be careful next time,” she says.

When they’re heading to the rink, I hear her speak to Yuri, “That was quite a reaction you showed there.” Yuri then goes on a little rampage, asking her to shut up and calling her names. He slows down, letting everyone get ahead of him. He glances at me, raising his thumb. His eyebrows are raised, making him look curious. Of what, however? Then I remember my little accident. I raise my right thumb, letting him know that I am okay. The woman catches me and Yuri. She snickers. When Yuri finds out, the woman raises her thumb, as well, imitating the both of us. A huge grin spreads on her face.

“You two seem close,” Valeria comments, the same grin on the woman’s face is on hers.

“Close enough,” I whisper, imagining what it’d be like for Yuri if I left. He has them while I don’t have anyone at all. Maybe he will get devastated. Maybe he won’t. A little part of me wants him to get hurt just so I can know that I did leave a mark in him. I am selfish, yes, but would it kill anyone to ever think of me even at least once?

We both get back to work and focus on the customers, the inventory. Unlike any other day, I become wary of my time during work. I anticipate the passing of hours, the dying of minutes and the revival of seconds. In short, I am looking forward to the end of my shift. I am not overly excited, just relieved to know that I am not immediately heading home after this. It is almost like someone created a different path for me to take today.

By the time my shift is up, I grab my things, make sure that I time myself out, then head outside. Yuri is standing near the entrance, looking at his phone. When he sees me, he raises his hand. I walk to where he is and the very greeting he gives me is a deafening lecture.

“What the hell happened a while ago? You should really be careful and get your mind to work. Don’t just space out like that. Damn, you almost gave me a heart attack.”

“Yuri, I tripped. That’s all,” I tell him, reminding him that what happened is a small accident, nothing to give that much of a fuss about. Even so, a little part of me likes his silly reaction.

“Hag, you could’ve hit your head or even cramped your leg,” he tells me. Then it hits me: Yuri is an athlete. Of course he cares about things like that or perhaps he just really sees it in a different way. I raise my thumb, repeating our little interaction a while ago. This time, it means something else: _Yeah, I get it, so please shut up._

He gets it and just says, “Let’s go. Grandpa has been waiting.”

He turns around, gets ahead of me. Before I follow him, I watch him. I look at his back and observe the rising and falling of the outline of his shoulders, then my gaze falls on his shoes. Another pair of animal-print. This time, it’s of a leopard.

I catch up to Yuri, and we end up in front of an old car. I actually expected something else because of Yuri’s “ _profession_ ”, but maybe his grandfather prefers the car to be that way. Whatever works works, right?

Yuri knocks on one of the car’s windows before opening the door. Then he looks at me and tells me to come over. “Gramps, this is Austra,” he says, pulling the door open just so we can both be in his grandpa’s view at the same time. His grandfather looks at me then smiles.

“The name is Nikolai. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too.”

“I’ll be by the backseat,” I tell Yuri. Yuri stares at me for a second, then he goes to the door next to his and opens it. I get inside, and he closes the door before getting to his seat. Nikolai starts the car, and so, our journey starts.

Yuri is immediately engulfed in a conversation with Nikolai. His expressions and replies are different from his usual ones. He smiles; he is cheerful; he looks so happy. It is almost like he has his guard down. I am glad for Yuri, but I am also a bit envious of him. Here he is, enjoying his time with someone who cares for him just as much as he cares for the person.

I take my phone out, checking to see if Dad has any message. I open my messenger and see that he has replied. A preview of his message shows an apology for replying too late. When I am about to open it, someone distracts me.

“So you two are going to watch a movie?” I hear Nikolai ask. I raise my head and see him looking at me by the rear view mirror. “Yes,” is the only thing I can say, not sure of the right words to give him. The need to talk more pushes me to think of something to add. “Paper Towns. Yuri says he has a copy of it.”

Nikolai looks back at the road before throwing a glance at Yuri. A smile creeps its way on his face. “I see,” he says.

“Is it any good?” he asks me again.

“I haven’t watched it. Just read it. I actually don’t like the book that much. But maybe the movie can be different,” I tell him. The words are rushing out of my mouth as though I am in a panic to say them. Somehow I have a feeling that I should impress him or even make him appreciate me. I am not sure if I am intimidated or not. _Or if I just want to be an okay friend for Yuri._

“Let’s hope that the movie’s good, then.”

I look at the window to calm myself down. Different places fade away as we get farther and farther. It’s always the same. Something is clear for a moment then blurred the next. Nothing is ever certain of how it is seen.

My gaze falls on the view in front of me–of Yuri and Nikolai, of a grandchild and his grandfather. They have their own world, but even so, they are trying to make me get involved, like they are pulling me with them. Nikolai could have just ignored me, but he did not. And here I am trying.

The car stops in front of a house. Yuri is about to get out until Nikolai speaks.

“Yuri, I’ll leave the house to your care. I’ll be back later.”

“I thought that the three of us-“

“Check-up,” Nikolai says. “I’m really sorry. I’ll try my best to catch up.”

Yuri gets quiet. Then he says, “It’s fine. I understand. Take care, Grandpa.” There is sadness in his eyes, but concern gets the best of him. Nikolai smiles, ruffles his hair and hands him a paper bag. He gives him a nod. “Have fun.”

Nikolai looks at me. “You, too.”

“Um, thank you. Take care,” I say with complete awkwardness. I mean those words, but I am too startled to tell them properly.

“See you, Grandpa.”

“See you.”

Yuri gets out then opens the door for me. I step out of the car. Nikolai waves at us before Yuri closes the door. The car leaves and both of us watch it. It is almost like I am seeing my past self. Yuri is silent. He is most likely worried about Nikolai. He is watching the road as if the car’s existence is permanent there, as if he does not want Nikolai to leave him.

I put my hand on his shoulder just to comfort him. Even though I am around, I am certain that he is feeling lonely now. As I watch him stare at the road, I am visited by the feeling I felt back then. I do not want Yuri to know it. I do not want him to ever feel abandoned even though it is just for a short period of time with an acceptable reason. _Although I'm gonna have to leave someday._

“He’s going to be okay,” I tell him.

“Knowing that he is going for a check-up scares the shit out of me, even though he has always come back with no bad news.”

We both head inside. A small table in front of the flat screen television has a plate blessed with pirozhki. There are even drinks by the side. I look at Yuri who shakes his head while a smile clings, pleased with his grandfather’s efforts. He goes to the DVD player that is under the table that is supporting the television. He takes a CD case from the paper bag Nikolai gave him. It is still wrapped with plastic. He removes it, opens the case and inserts the disk. Yuri takes two remotes–one for the television and the other for the player. He turns the television on, then he proceeds to the movie. We sit beside each other on the green couch, and the film starts.

“I thought you have a copy of the movie,” I say, referring to the newly bought disk.

“I do. Now. I never told you about when I got it, only that I have it. Gramps bought it for today. This, too.” He gives me the paper bag. I look inside and see another box of chicken nuggets.

“Yuri, why do I have a feeling that you think that chicken nuggets are my favorite?”

“They aren’t? How would I know if they seem to cheer you up and when I caught you pigging out on them?”

“Pigging out is too much. I am not like that. Also, that’s because I had a deal with Valeria, and nobody just gives me a box of chicken nuggets out of nowhere.”

“Hey, I did that because you were sad!”

“So it really was for cheering me up.”

“Can we just watch the movie?” he asks, stopping me from talking about it further.

The movie is already on, yet here I am preferring to have a conversation with the guy I am with. I look at him, and his eyes are glued to the screen. Then I start watching the movie, trying to know if the movie can make me like the story of Paper Towns because I am finished knowing about something regarding the person next to me.

And what I found out is this: Yuri Plisetsky is undeniably, inexplicably and hellishly adorable.


	15. Chapter 15

The movie is finished, and some of the pirozhki on the table are gone. Yuri and I are staring at the screen, watching the names of people appear and disappear. He takes the remote, turns the DVD player and the television off. He leans against the couch, staring at the dead frame. I watch him, and wait for him to speak. A sour look is sketched on his face. His eyebrows have created a valley. He seems upset. He ruffles his hair, looking confused and frustrated.

“Well that was stupid,” Yuri says. “It’s almost like he left just to confess. Dumb.”

“You can’t blame him. It’s Margo’s fault. She kept on leaving clues. If she didn’t want to be found, she could’ve not dropped hints,” I tell him while I offer him to take some of my chicken nuggets. He takes two. “I actually hate them. The story and the characters. They’re all lies,” I add.

He throws a glance at me. “If I had known, I would have chosen a different movie and just straight up tell you that I have no copy of it at all.”

“But I envy Margo a bit. In the movie, she seems so…alive.”

“Yeah. Her and her thick eyebrows look so alive,” Yuri comments with a face as serious as that of a soldier. Although that is the case, what he said cracks me up a bit. I bury myself deeper on the couch as I look up to the ceiling, feeling warm yet fuzzy inside. It is ridiculous how I can be this calm right now. It’s almost like I am at peace.

“She’s pretty, though. The actress,” I tell him as I take another chicken nugget from the small box. “Girls like her make me wonder what it’s like to be pretty.”

“Girls with thick eyebrows?” he asks me in hopes of pissing me off, but I couldn’t care less about it.

“No. Girls like her, my sister, and the woman you were with today. The one with auburn hair.”

“Mila.”

“Yeah. Girls like them make me feel insecure, leave me dazed, and just get me a tad bit envious. Like, there was this one time when Leslie had her friends come over, and I could tell that one of the guys was into her. He was watching her like he didn’t want to miss any movement she’d make. My sister was just talking. But if you looked at the guy and saw the way he looked at her, you’d think that my sister was singing to him and he was listening to every note.

You see, if you make girls like them disappear, someone would definitely search for them or even wonder about them. It’s a given.”

I turn my head and see him blinking. Both of us are looking at each other. And somehow, the world seems to freeze. The whole universe is whispering, yet the two of us look as though we prefer its silence. We are just here, sitting on a couch, eating chicken nuggets, and boring ourselves with each other’s faces.

No matter how many times I have met his gaze, I cannot seem to get enough of his face. His features are familiar and distinct but never tiring to the eyes. The man that I see in videos of skating competitions seems so different from the guy next to me–the guy who has a weak spot for his grandfather, who thinks that chicken nuggets are my favorite, and who happens to be ill-tempered and crabby when off the ice. I cannot really spell him out, but I guess that he is just the same towards me. We are both moody people, yet we cannot really say what kind of people we are.

“You’re envious of them being noticeable and attractive?”

“No. I’m envious of how their facial features allow them to matter to people. I mean, do you even expect Q to search for Margo if Margo is just your average girl?”

“Funny. I thought you wouldn’t be that kind of person. I mean, I have been wondering why you let yourself go outside of the house looking like that. It’s almost like you don’t even care about yourself.”

“I have to save some money.”

“Fool. Can you tell that to people out there who make themselves look presentable despite their financial crises? Also, everything isn’t really about faces. At some point, Margo did matter to Q. Why do you think that only Q was determined enough to look for her?”

The sudden argument causes me to remain quiet. Then a question fills my head. I look away, embarrassed to see Yuri’s face when I ask him what it is that has knocked on the door of my mind. I focus my gaze on the dead screen in front of us. Our reflection lays bare for us to see. A girl is looking ahead, while a boy is looking at her.

“If I disappear, will you search for me?”

The immediate response that I get is a loud “huh?” so I repeat myself.

The question hangs in the air for a moment. It is haunting and lingering. I look back at him, slowly shaking my head while wearing a small smile, then I tell him that it is nothing but a random question. Yuri lets out a sigh. He doesn’t believe me, so I twist my words into a lie that is close to the truth. After all, he is going to find out someday, and I really am planning to tell it to him. I do not want to be like my mother who holds your hand just to let go and have you wondering what made her leave you. I do not want Yuri to get hurt, especially after seeing him watching Nikolai leave, but I might end up hurting him. The only thing that I can do is to lessen the impact. The only thing that a map can do to a thumbtack is to fool it with the wind–make it look like the wind wanted the thumbtackto leave the map alone even though it is actually the map that wants the help of the wind despite getting well-acquainted with the thumbtack.

“I dream of studying abroad and meeting my father.” And abandoning everyone and everything here, even you. I will never look back.

“Well that’s a pretty unclear dream. Aren’t Russian universities good enough for you?”

“That’s not what I’m implying.”

His eyes are sharp, almost like they are suspecting me of something. When I change the topic by asking him what his dream is, his eyes spark with ambition and resolve. He tells me that he wants to be the best skater out there, but he also tells me that his rivals are also good. He even adds that besides being the best skater, he is still undecided about what he wants to be.

He takes a look at his phone and looks at the time. “You should probably get back already.”

“What about Nikolai?”

“Next time for sure.” Yuri smiles at me. I almost want to remind him that he looked like he was on the brink of falling apart when Nikolai had to go for a check-up and miss watching the movie with us.

When we both stand up, I catch a glimpse of Yuri’s cat. It goes to where he is and rubs itself against him. His eyes widen. He lowers himself and pets it for a little while. Then he stops.

“Try it. You’ve never had a pet, right?”

“Yeah.” I reach my hand out, wanting to pet the cat, as well. But when my hand gets a little bit closer, it makes an attempt to claw at me. It is a good thing that I am able to avoid it. I feel rejected. “Did you teach your cat how to hate me? You sure as hell did a great job.”

“Why the hell would I do that?” he says in a yelling manner.

He pets the cat again, and I can tell that the cat really likes him because it looks like it doesn’t ever want Yuri to stop. Yuri uses his other hand to grab mine and guides me. This time, the cat does not try to scratch me. Instead, it purrs. I become occupied with Yuri and the cat. I guess I can understand why people like pets. It’s because they make you feel like you’re doing something right. They make you feel like you’re the best person ever unless you’re someone else.

Yuri tells me to wait outside the house, so I do. While I wait for him, I take my phone out of my pocket and check my messenger. I read Dad’s reply which causes me to stand still and stare with an open mouth. He apologized for responding late, and he told me that he would be coming to Russia next month or the month after. This leaves me surprised.

Excitement ignites a flame within me. But along with it is regret. I asked him to go here, but now that I know he’s going, something is making me feel bad about it. I am uncertain of what it is. Regret? Guilt? Or is this simply just an intuition?

It takes Yuri a few minutes before he shows up from the garage. With him is a black motorcycle with leopard-print seats. He hands me a black helmet, the same as the one he is wearing. He closes the garage and locks the front door. He runs to the vehicle. He gets on the motorcycle and starts the engine.

“Cool,” I say without thinking. I put the helmet on.

“My friend taught me.” Yuri raises his head and gives me a proud smile. It is seriously adorable how this guy just turns into a loving and caring person when it comes to the people he treasures.

“Is he also a figure skater?” I ask him, wanting to know if the guy’s world really revolves around the world of the ice. If I didn’t work by the rink, would we be able to notice each other like this?

Yuri nods his head and answers, “Otabek Altin. Kazakhstan.” _I thought so, Yuri. I thought so._

I get on the motorcycle. Once I am finally set, Yuri takes my hands and wraps them around his waist. He is starting the engine while I am memorizing the slope of his broad shoulders even though his clothes make me less accurate with my observation. Without any warning at all, Yuri starts driving. This makes me cling to him.

The sky is bleeding dark colors. Streetlights are lit, looking like they are cages of stars. The wind is running through us, infecting us with its coldness. The streets are touched upon by the round feet of cars and motorcycles. For every vehicle, a life is riding. And with the one we are using, the two of us are tied together.

I secure myself, making sure that my arms are properly wrapped around Yuri. I look at his shoulders and the hair escaping his helmet, waving at me. It actually feels nice to be close to him and be like this. It feels nice to feel free and not alone.

“Hey, Yuri.”

“What?”

I start wondering if I should tell him about my dad. I want him to know that he is going to be here. It’s like I want someone–someone I trust–to know. However, I end up remaining silent about it.

“Nothing.”

“What?” he yells, not because he is pissed, but because he cannot hear me from the song of the wind and the street. Plus, his helmet is not helping at all.

“Nothing,” I shout. I look up to the sky, not particularly searching for anything yet still admiring the entirety of it.

“The hell? Really, what is it?” he shouts, as well.

Not really having an idea of what to say, I settle down for an exchange of insults which is something we haven’t actually done for a long time.

“You’re a douche!”

A few seconds pass by before Yuri answers back. “You’re a shithead.”

We exchange a few more teases, not caring if anyone were to hear us since the windows of cars and helmets of riders make us feel like only the two of us can talk to each other–like the world has locked us out from everyone else.

“You’re just jealous of JJ!”

“You wish, hag. You wish.” Yuri pauses for a moment. “By the way, what’s your favorite food?”

The corners of my lips are twitching. Something wants to come out. This boy with the animal-print shoes and a love for cats is asking me about my favorite food after having been confronted that what he thought was my favorite wasn’t actually the one I liked the most.

“Definitely not chicken nuggets,” I say in a loud voice.

“Fuck you.” Yuri might have sworn, but I am pretty sure that it is not because he wants to bash my face into a wall. It is because he is embarrassed.

A sound that has barely made its way to my lips these days comes out. In that very moment, I am genuinely laughing. I feel lightweight, almost like a balloon floating in the air and ready to just possibly meet the sky. Here I am, failing miserably on controlling myself from cracking up. Maybe it’s because of the shouting, that I suddenly got bubbly and cheerful–which I usually am not.

I tighten my hold on Yuri. In fact, I am no longer holding on for safety. I am hugging him, silently thanking him for actually letting me feel like I do not have a hellish life back home even if it is just for a short moment.

When I see the very familiar view that I have come to know for so long, a part of me wants to ask Yuri to ignore it and continue driving. I still want to be away from home and feel at peace and joyful. I prefer spending time with Yuri over going back inside. However, once Yuri has parked, I get off of the motorcycle. I remove the helmet and hand it to him. He gets off and unlocks something so he can lift the seat. He stores the helmet inside then puts the seat back and locks it. He turns to me.

“So… see you?” I ask, clueless as to how we will bid our goodbyes.

“What the hell? I just got off of my bike. Give me a break.”

“You didn’t run or anything. You just drove.”

“Just let me rest for a little while, will you?”

“Nikolai might be back already.” As soon as the words come out of my mouth, Yuriinnocently blinks like a child who has just entered a room and forgotten what he is supposed to do.

“Shit,” he says before getting on his bike.

“See you,” I tell him.

“Yeah, see you.”

His attention is no longer on me. His mind is focused on his grandfather–the person he treasures the most. I head to the entrance of the building, but after a few steps away from Yuri, he calls me. I look back at him, and our gazes catch each other again. The angel and the soon-to-be runaway meet.

“I’ll search for you.”

It takes me a moment or two before I realize that it’s his answer to my question earlier. With those words, a grenade of butterflies drops inside my stomach. I stand here frozen while watching the guy who is now avoiding my gaze. 

“It’s nothing. Shut up and go home,” he says as he starts the engine again.

“I’m already home.”

“You know what I mean. Just get inside. Damn it.”

Somehow I can’t refrain myself from smiling. I raise both of my hands, cross them, and do JJ’s signature move as a way to react because I cannot think of anything to say. Yuri immediately raises his right hand, giving me the middle finger. Then he puts his hand back at the clutch. We do a second round of see-you’s before he leaves.

Inside, I see Leslie sitting on the couch and eating junk food. When she notices me, she comments on how late I am from my usual time of being at home. I tell her that I won’t be eating since I have eaten already. Leslie then asks me where I was. And I tell her that I just hung out with a friend.

I head to my room, pleased about Leslie not personally knowing Yuri. It’s like he is my secret. It’s like I finally have something that she doesn’t. I have no idea why but I feel like I am glowing and bursting with so much happy feelings ever since the ride back home. I’ve never felt this carefree. It almost feels like I haven’t been living properly until now.

Maybe I don’t need to abandon Yuri at all. Maybe, just maybe, I can leave everyone here yet still carry him with me. I do not have to hurt him. I do not have to pretend like he is a nobody because, let’s be honest, he is not. He is distracting me from the hell that I am forced to drown myself in; he gives me a temporary escape; and most especially, he cares.

Isn’t that one of the things that I want? To at least matter to someone before I am gone?


	16. Chapter 16

Having trouble falling asleep is not new to me. I have spent nights where I just lie on my bed, staring at the lifeless ceiling, waiting for the dark to swallow me and take me away from my reality, and thinking about the time I can finally leave. Unlike those nights, tonight is different. I am awake because of being restless about Dad’s coming here. The excitement that I felt when I read his message is gone. What’s left is fear. It is suffocating me, strangling me with its strong hands.

There is chaos in my head, and my thoughts are drowning me. Anxiety has its grip on me, and I can’t seem to get away from it.

My father and I will meet days or months from now. It is supposed to make me happy, yet why am I torn and nervous? Is it because we haven’t really talked face-to-face lately? Is it because I’m afraid that I may no longer be the Austra he’d learned to spend quiet days with? Is it because he might suddenly think that he’s better off without me once we finally see each other again? He’s my father–the man I have been trusting a lot and relying so much. He has been there for me when Mom and Leslie were being cruel. He has been around whenever I needed help, so I don’t ever want him to think of abandoning me because it will kill me. I do not want to remember what it’s like to trust someone so much and get hurt in the end. Mom ruined me, and I never want to be abandoned again. Ever.

Staring at the ceiling has made me realize just how empty this room makes me feel. At first, I notice the light and how it seems so lonely. It is just there, trying to brighten up the room of a disappearing girl. Then my attention falls to the closet, the table, and the drawer. My room is not big, yet it seems so just because of how gloomy my existence is. The companions that I have are only the shadows of furniture, but they are still, unmoving and silent; hence not giving me any comfort at all. It is almost like they are hiding away from me. This sadness that is poisoning me, spreading throughout my body, does not seem to be curable by anything at all. It is quite odd, though. I used to only feel this way because of people from here, so why, why am I being like this just because of Dad? I am supposed to be overjoyed.

I can still hear the faint sound of a running television. From time to time, I hear Leslie’s voice. Sometimes she’d laugh along or even comment at what she is watching. It must be nice to be that carefree. In fact, it must be nice to be like Leslie. Although we belong to a broken family, it does not seem to bother her; she does not seem hurt by it at all.

I take my phone from under my pillow and search for Yuri’s profile on Instagram. I look at his photos, blinding myself with the face of the blonde. I remember the ride on the way back home, and how happy I was. I laughed and felt as though something was growing inside me–like a flower about to have its own empire in order to make a garden out of me. I was damn glad, yet here I am, watching his frozen face on the screen. As I stare, I am searching for the smile that is rather unnerving, which happens to be rare in his profile’s photos, in hopes of tugging my lips–in hopes of feeling the sudden outburst of joy again. However, that is not what happens.

_“I’ll search for you.”_

I do not need a picture of Yuri. I need the guy himself to take me away from here and give me a temporary escape from everything again.

Tears are forming in my eyes. My hand is shaking. The pain is getting worse. I place my phone on my chest, almost like I’m hugging it. I am remembering Yuri’s words, and I am remembering the very scene of my merriment. Even so, I feel so broken. I do not know why I am crying. I feel so gone from here or anywhere at all.

Thoughts are racing in my head, and some are telling me that abandoning this place won’t do anything; and that Dad is not my ally. I close my eyes, hoping that my thoughts will go away with my vision. My tears are escaping from my gates. My voice makes a whisper of torture. I am breaking and falling apart, even though nothing at the moment is causing me to be in ruins.

To be able to fall asleep just because of whimpering as tears crawl themselves out of your eyes is the worst way of falling asleep. I can say so because that is how I managed to calm myself down that night.

Morning is here, and the emptiness has swallowed a part of me. The hours just go by while I am frustrated by all of them–the people, the cold, the dead lights… Everything is killing me and making me feel like my plans will not work.

How can someone who dreams get so hurt by her own goals?

I stare at the brochures, thinking about running away from here. I hide them before leaving my room and heading to work. In my head is Yuri. I send him a message on Instagram, asking him if he could teach me how to skate again. He agrees, of course not without an insult. I have to tell him that I’m gonna leave soon so that he won’t be surprised when I’m gone–so that he, my only dearest friend, won’t get hurt.

There are not much customers as compared to the number that goes during other dates. I look at the clock from time to time, waiting for my shift to be over. When it is, I meet with Yuri outside just to start his teaching session. His insults no longer affect me. His grumpiness is no longer annoying to me because right now Yuri is the closest thing that I have for a liberator.

We head inside, get some skates, wear them, and just talk a bit. When we enter the rink, with him holding my hand just to make sure that I’m steady, I pay attention to the warmth that I am feeling. I like how his hand makes me feel safe even though it is doing nothing special except for just holding me. I am starting to focus too much on Yuri and the bubbly feelings that are surfacing whenever he and I are spending time together. I reminisce about our other encounters, trying to know if I have always been this way towards him even before I finally surrendered my trust.

I grab his hand, feeling like I do not want to let go and I do not want him to let go of me. This causes him to flinch and swear as he turns around and glares at me, telling me not to scare the shit out of him. Then he turns around again and pulls me. We skate for a little bit. With Yuri trying to match me at my nowhere-near-the-professional level. He is talking, teaching me about the things I should know. Yet I am deafened by everything. I am deafened by my thoughts. I only know that he is talking, but I cannot hear his words.

“Hey, Yuri?”

“What now, hag?”

I look at our intertwined hands. Neither of us seem to mind having them laced together. Maybe Yuri hasn’t figured it out, or maybe it means nothing to him. But to me, somehow, it makes me glow inside–like a firefly. And soon, when he is gone, my firefly-ness will go with him and die.

“To tell you the truth, I’m leaving. Soon,” I tell him. He slows down until we both stop in the middle. He is looking at me with serious eyes. It makes me talk even more. “My father is coming here. I’m actually pretty nervous about it. He’ll be here next month or the month after.

“He might take me with him.” Lie. I am not sure of anything anymore. Maybe I’ll force him to take me with him. Maybe I’ll find an escape. I don’t know. I no longer know what I really know and want. “I don’t want to leave, but I may have to.” Another lie. I have always wanted to leave this place. I’ve always wanted to leave the people here behind. But somehow, Yuri has been the only guy to make me think twice about him. All because of his stupid kindness. All because of his mood swings. All because of him being adorable.

“I… really… want to see you skate Agape or Yuri on Ice.” The words are rushing themselves out of my mouth before I can even stop myself. Yuri’s serious expression turns into that of being upset. “I-“

“What the hell?” is his first string of words to say. His eyebrows are reaching out to each other again, his nose a tad bit wrinkled. “What the fucking hell? You’re telling me that you’re about to leave and then you suddenly say that you want to see me skate that or–the hell–even my rival’s program? Where is this crap coming from?”

“I’m not asking you to do it. I’m just telling you that.”

“What do you _really_ want to say? You’re being complicated!” he says in an annoyed manner.

“I don’t know.” I admit. “I don’t know anymore, Yuri.” The tears are coming out again. “I don’t. I just don’t.”

“You’re being pathetic.”

“I know. Yuri, you don’t know what it’s like to be in my shoes and be this… confused.”

“Then tell me what’s wrong instead of talking gibberish!” his voice is getting louder, triggering repressed emotions inside me. The tears are starting to pour almost as though a raincloud has been squeezed on my face. My heart is getting tortured again. Pain is smiling at me, giving me an applause for ruining the possibility of calmness of my today.

“I want to leave, okay? I want to run away.” My voice cracks as truth comes out with my words. I did not expect myself to immediately confess the truth after a properly made-up lie. “You don’t know what it’s like to wake up each day hoping that you’re no longer here. I don’t want to be here, Yuri. I want to run away and leave everyone. I don’t belong here. I am no longer sure of anything–even my dad. But at least, if I get far from here, I won’t be that hurt anymore. I don’t have anyone here. Hell, Yuri. You’re my first true friend.”

His expression softens as he falls silent.

”Do you really have to run away?" he asks me as he tightens his grip on my hand.

It takes me by surprise because he is no longer yelling. He is just staring, like he’s searching for the rawness and vulnerability of my soul. Sincerity greets me in his eyes. A bit of sadness is lurking around him. I look at our hands then his face, and after that I say, “Yes."

“Idiot, you don’t have to,” he answers me.

The tears come running down. Yuri is watching me cry, not knowing what else to say to me. Even I no longer know what to tell him. We stay there for a minute or two before one of us breaks the silence.

“Let’s go,” he tells me, gently pulling me and leading me out of the rink while I am sobbing. Once we’re finally gone, he immediately pulls me towards him, and I almost fall, but he catches me. He wraps me in his arms, makes me feel safer than ever.

This side of Yuri is the same one that I saw with Nikolai. This side of his is what made me adore him. This side of him–this caring and kind side of him–is what makes me want to avoid hurting him. It’s taken me this long to figure out, but this side of him that I appreciate a lot is probably what’s going to make me want to stay. I am already starting to become uncertain of my goals. I must not convince myself that I do not have to go away.

I think that I’ve let Yuri too close to me. I have to act now. I do not have anyone but myself.

“I’m fine. You can let go of me now,” I tell him, hoping that he won’t let go of me because as soon as he does everything won’t be the same again.


	17. Chapter 17

I stare at the brochures as anger builds up inside me. I can feel my fingernails trying to dig themselves into my palms as my hands are curled. My arms are shaking while the rest of my body stays still. Tears are approaching my eyes, and I hate myself for crying so much – I hate myself for being vulnerable. I have given up so many things for my dream. I am weak, and I am a coward. I am still everything I want to leave behind. I am still everything I do not want to be.

Yuri and I separated after bidding our goodbyes to each other. For another time, I left him without him knowing that I was planning to avoid him. Saying “see you” to him without actually meaning it killed a part of me. It was almost like I was lying not only to him but also to myself. I knew that I didn’t want to be away from him, and yet my decision preferred the opposite just because of the fear that Yuri might give me a reason to stay.

I grab the brochures, close enough to crumple them or tear them apart until I realize what I am about to do. My shoulders shake as I struggle to breathe in-between my whimpers. I shake my head and hold the brochures close to me, wishing that Dad was around because I needed him to remind me that only the two of us can understand each other. Even so, a part of me is now doubting if he is worth everything I am doing – if my escape is worth anything at all.

It comes to me that for all the times I have cried in this room, nobody has ever checked to see if I were okay. I made sounds–from whimpers to sobs–and yet nobody seems to be able to hear me. It’s just me inside my own little world – my lonely _and_ miserable world. It is not like anything has changed. It is not like anything _can_ change. I am supposed to be used to this. This is nothing new. This is the usual.

The next day, I wake up and feel absolutely tired from everything and anything. I know that I have to go to school. I know that I have to get up and prepare. Yet here I am, loving the comfort of my blanket while my eyelids feel heavy due to crying last night. My hair is a complete mess like I haven’t taken a bath for three days. I open my mouth and make that “ha” thing you do when it’s cold just to see that little and temporary cloud-ish thing that you make. I smell my breath and feel the need to go and brush my teeth. Even so, I am exhausted despite not having done anything at all; it’s almost like the strength and energy of my body have all gone or have been drained. Nothing makes me want to get up and go outside. All I know are things that I have to do, not things that I want to do.

I am staring at the wall while I hear someone knock on my door over and over. The person is impatient and pissed off, and the knocks almost sound like punches. Then I hear the voice of the person - the rude person.

“Hey, Aus! It’s Monday, remember?”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“You are supposed to be awake by now!”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“I don’t want to be awake,” I think to myself and feel my eyes get moist. The very realization is enough to annoy me. It’s too early in the morning for a new batch of tears to start their show. My cheeks are highways, and my tears are cars. I am the country.

Knock. Knock. Knock. The world is shouting at me, asking me to open the goddamned door already. However, I stay still on my bed, like a doll left by her owner. I close my eyes and pretend that I am nowhere inside this room, like a ghost. Here but nowhere. Someone and no one at all. “I really hate how weak I have become.”

“Austra! You’re already late!”

Knock. Knock. The third knock is gone.

“What’s the matter?” And then there’s Mom.

“She won’t come out of her room.”

The punches on my door are replaced by polite knocks. This ticks me off. Here is the pretender – the woman who will lure you into believing that she cares and loves you, even though she really doesn’t. The woman outside my door is the reason I am like this, and the reason why my family will never ever be okay again. I hate her so much, and yet I was hurt when she was crying. The curse of being the daughter of a woman you have learned to hate is that you cannot just simply ignore her even though it may seem like you can, even though you want to believe that you can.

“Austra?”

Knock. Knock. Knock. The shouting is now a song. The punching bag has become a mic.

“Austra, you’re gonna be late.”

“She’s not _going to be_ late because she already _is_.” I am not, Les. You’re exaggerating.

I pull my blanket over my head and just hide away from the voices. I really want to disappear from this place.

“Leslie, you have school, too, don’t you?”

This is the first time I have ever heard Mom say something that may dim the spotlight of Leslie. The words give a simple meaning, but the way they were said during such a situation is like an enemy pointing his sword to his ally.

The diva shuts up, and I hear footsteps after that. The sound gets fainter and fainter. Now, only my mother is outside the door. Again, she knocks.

“Austra?”

Why?

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Are you okay?”

Why is it so easy for her to lie like this?

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Austra.”

Why is it so easy for her to pretend like she cares?

Knock. Knock. Knock.

_”Do you really have to run away?"_

The pain is stinging me, and it’s a different kind of pain. It is something I am not used to, something I am not familiar with. I open my mouth, hoping that my voice can come out, but I do not know what to say. I want to say something that can hurt her, but I also want to say something that can make her think that I am okay – that I am not planning to get away from her.

_“Maybe a part of you cares about your mother.”_

I open my eyes and search for my phone, not caring if my mother can hear me. I look for it under my pillow. I throw aside my blanket to see if it was covered or anything. Then I remember that I have it inside my bag. I get up and take it just to get my phone. Once I have it, I see notifications from Yuri.

He has liked one photo of mine. A picture of me and Clementine. When I stare at the photo, I find a silly little girl smiling, unaware that her best friend will no longer be her best friend in the future.

Clementine is the kind of girl you’ll find yourself lucky to be friends with. She has that orange-ish red or red-ish orange hair that looks so soft as if she has done absolutely nothing but take care of it ever since she was born. I remember the freckles on her face and how I once told her that I was envious of them. We always got together during lunch, after dismissal, and on the way home. We shared secrets, homework, experiences and food. But when my mom left, us getting together became less often. When my mom left, I couldn’t stand close to Clementine without thinking that she might leave me, too. I got afraid that there might come a time when Clementine would just ditch me.

I posted that picture because when Mom took me away from Dad, I at least wanted Clementine to know that I really appreciated being friends with her, and I still wanted to continue being close to her. However, I didn’t want to tell it directly, so I needed to mask the truth with an almost-truth, and wait for her to talk to me to see if she really wanted to stay friends with me.

She did talk to me. We chatted on Facebook and tried to reconnect our failing friendship. But somehow, it ended with nothing. Nothing but silence and invisible messages. It was really going to happen at some point because the farther we were from each other and the older we got, the more that one of us changed. I was afraid to make her think that she should abandon me, so I had to stop our way of communication before she could even have the chance to reject me.

I check my inbox and see a photo message from Yuri. He took a photo of his cat sleeping on his lap. He is at the living room. I can see the table where we had our food set when we watched a movie. At the table, I see the case of Paper Towns. The next photo is a picture of his grandfather watching the movie with him.

Then, a bubble with a question comes after those photos. “You okay?” is there.

I know that I should ignore him. Heck, it’d be best to stay away from him. Yet before I can even think of a way of staying away from him, I find myself taking a picture of the white ceiling. I edit the photo and put the word “No”. I change the color of the font into the same color of the ceiling. It is a stupid idea: to give him a photo of a reply that won’t even allow him to know my actual reply.

The word becomes invisible and this makes me brave enough to add three more words since I am sure that he cannot read them. The words will be hidden away from him. My “I am sorry” will never be read. He will only see a picture of the ceiling.

I send the photo to him. After sending it, I find myself wondering when Mom had stopped knocking on my door. I got distracted, again. By the same person, too. I get back to bed and do my best to fall asleep. I just want to escape from the world again. Hours go by, and once more, I wake up. This time, I am certain that I am the only one around. Leslie is at school while Mom is at work.

I go the bathroom and brush my teeth. After that, I take a shower. The water is cold and I shiver under its tickling touch. I watch the drain take all the water thrown at me while it is whispering words of how the water prefers it over me. When I am done, I turn the shower off and grab the towel. I dry myself off then wrap the towel around my body. I head to my room then at the cabinet. I take whatever shirt is on top and grab some pajamas. I get a pair of underwear, as well, then I dress myself up.

I head to Mom’s room and take the laptop. I place myself on Leslie’s throne and turn the TV on. I flip through different channels, looking for something good to watch. Everything seems so boring. It then bothers me how my sister can be so appreciative of doing something that is killing her brain cells. I turn the television off and just use the laptop.

As soon as the desktop shows up, I go and search for Microsoft Word. I begin to type a formal letter asking for my dismissal at the rink. I am going to resign. A month from now, I will no longer be at the rink, and I will no longer hand Yuri his skates. I will just be another person he met there.

Words drenched in pretentious guilt and gratitude fill the blank page. When I am done, I search for the e-mail of our boss which I remember is saved in my phone. I get back to my room just to take my phone with me. Then I search for the e-mail. I send the letter to him. I am aware that I should just tell him that I am going to quit in person; however, he is not always around. Hence, I succumbed to the option of just sending a message.

Maybe this time, I won’t have to think about Yuri anymore.

I download a few songs and transfer some to my phone. After that, I shut down the laptop then take my bag. I take a cab to the mall for the simple task of buying a nice pair of earphones using some of the money I have saved. As I walk around, I am haunted by faces of people I will never ever get to know. Once I have finally done the silly little quest of mine–of buying myself some earphones, I find myself wandering around the mall until I stand in front of McDonald’s.

My feet drag me inside, and my patience is quite accepting with time. When the woman behind the counter asks for my order, I ask for chicken nuggets. As I wait for her to return with them, I start wondering why I am here. When I receive my order, I put my earphones on and head home, still wondering about him and why I am like this.

At home, I eat the nuggets while looking at Yuri’s photos. I stare at them, as if I want to memorize them and still be able to see them when I close my eyes. I then check my inbox to see if he has replied with anything at all. He has, and it is with a string of words: “I am serious.”

A sad smile occupies my lips. I stare and read his reply over and over. Yuri does not know about the hidden words to the picture I sent. He thinks that I am playing around. _No, Yuri. I am not. I am serious, as well. You just don’t get it. You don’t know what I want to say._

I just wrote a letter of resignation just so I can avoid Yuri. Yet here I am, about to reminisce the ridiculous moments that involved Yuri and a box of chicken nuggets. Here I am, still thinking of him.

Even though I am going to avoid him, maybe it’s okay to watch him from afar. I do not hate him. I just need to distance myself from him because he might change my mind on leaving. I have to leave this place, or else I’ll never be free. Nobody here cares enough for me. Everyone is rejecting me, never giving me a chance to be known by them–except for Yuri, perhaps. I have to leave so I can fool myself that I am the one who has abandoned them. I have to leave so I can find some comfort. Dad will tell me that everything is all right, and I won’t have to remember everyone who never really cared.

I have not noticed that Leslie has arrived until she clears her throat. She is standing beside the television, eyeing me on her seat. She has a sour look on her face. A hint of annoyance is obvious on her sharp gaze. She stares at me like she wants me to say something.

“What’s with all the drama this morning?” she asks as she raises an eyebrow at me.

“I wasn’t feeling well,” I tell her as I stand up and take my things, prepared to go to my room.

“Please, Austra, you won’t be able to fool me.”

“Can’t you just leave me alone? I don’t even mind you for all the things that you do.”

Leslie blocks my path.

“Move,” I say.

“I won’t.”

There are times when I look at Leslie and hate her for so many things I do not even know. There are also times when I look at her and feel envious of the things that she has. Right now, both hatred and envy are residing inside me.

“I just didn’t feel well.”

“Yeah, but you were able to get outside and buy that.” Her eyes are glued to my meal, and it is then that I realize how stupid it is of me to forget about it.

“Okay, okay. I didn’t feel like going to school. That’s it. Happy now?” I roll my eyes. She grits her teeth and looks away. She takes a deep breath, calming herself down. I try to get past her, but I stop when I hear her speak.

“It must be so nice to have Mom wrapped around your finger.”

I let out a fake laugh which makes her confused. I turn around and face her, giving her the sweetest smile I can ever put on.

“You must be kidding. You’re the favorite, remember?”


	18. Chapter 18

_“It must be so nice to have Mom wrapped around your finger.”_

_“You must be kidding. You’re the favorite, remember?”_

Leslie stares at me, and I see tears along her eyes. The expression of annoyance she gave me is replaced with repressed sadness. Her grip on being superior suddenly loosens. Her lips quiver, twitching like she is trying to stop herself from frowning. And yet I can see her have a hard time on pretending she is okay.

“I have never been her favorite. It has always been you,” she hisses.

“As if. There hasn’t been a single day in this house when Mom made me feel like that. She always takes your side.”

“Why do you love thinking that you are _so_ miserable in life?” she asks me. Anger is making her clench her fists and grit her teeth. Tears run down her face. She moves her arms just to wipe all of them away. Even in her moment of weakness, her pride is stronger than her sorrow.

“And why are you so full of yourself? You already _have_ everything.”

“Compared to you, I have nothing,” she says, covering her face. Just now, I remember Mom and her sobbing. In front of me, my sister is crying. The weird thing is that everything is almost the same: someone is breaking down while I am hurting inside despite the hatred that I carry. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

“I’m the one who has nothing here. You _always_ get what you want,” I tell her, pissed at how she’s making me look like I’m the bad person here. I have always been the outsider, the giver and the sufferer. That is not how she wants us to see that, though. Look at how she is turning the tables. Look at how real her tears are. Look at how realistic her acting is. This is my sister. This is the diva talented at bending everyone at her will–even the reality that we have.

“No, Austra,” she says, “ _You_ have Mom and Dad. Even without doing anything, you still have them. _I_ have to do something first before they realize that, ‘ _oh, hey, we have another daughter’._ Have you ever wondered why Dad keeps on contacting you despite not trying to keep in touch with me? _You_ are his favorite. _I_ am just the _other_ person in the family.”

She removes her hands. The anger on her face turns into nothing but an ugly representation of sadness. I stand here, frozen and speechless. A tiny part of me wants to slap her for the lies she is trying to sell, but another part of me wants to pity her for how desperate she is to even consider twisting the truth.

“You are such a good liar. I’m the one here who has a part-time job and tries to save some money while you go and buy those high-end makeup stash of yours without even considering this shitty situation we’re in. And guess who gets to sacrifice her own savings. Me. Mom hasn’t even paid me back. I worked hard for that money, but she just had to use them to pay the rent. How am I the favorite if she can’t even let me do something for myself? It has always been about you. She’d buy you stuff and let you do what you want. I just keep on losing.”

“That’s because you are so distant that we can’t even seem to feel like you’re around. Hell, Austra, you are so annoying. You are so ignorant. You think that you know everything, but you don’t. You know nothing. Wanna know why I have a lot of high-end makeup collections? It’s because they’re fake. I don’t use them at all. The only ones I’m using are the cheap and legit ones I can really buy for myself. I only put the fake ones for display. Yeah, pathetic, I know. It’s a way for me not to feel that we’re poor.

“And wanna know something else? Mom hasn’t paid you yet because she is planning to buy you your own laptop instead. Guess who has to contribute to that. Me. You are such an ungrateful brat, yet you don’t even know what you’re being ungrateful of. If I had known how you’d turn out to be right now, I wouldn’t have let Mom come back for you back then. But no, I had to suffer mornings of seeing her staring at somewhere so far away. She kept on mentioning your name whenever we talked. It killed me. I was the one around, and yet she was thinking of you. I told her to come back for you. I convinced her to come back for you even though I knew that she was afraid of facing you again. I thought that it’d fix everything, and that she might see me differently. But, wow, I was wrong. I should have just let you stay with Dad.”

“Yeah. You should have,” I say softly, still processing everything. Is there any truth in what she said? I don’t think I have ever made Leslie talk continuously as if her body is a storehouse of words. As she kept on talking, her tears were nonstop. With those tears was shame. It’s almost like she was abashed for letting me watch her cry. She would raise her hand from time to time just to wipe away some of her tears. “If I had been with Dad, I would not have been _this_ sad.”

Leslie shakes her head and smirks. “No. Don’t blame this on us. It’s up to you whether you’re gonna be sad or not. You never really tried to fit in or even appreciate anyone. If Yuri ever leaves you, are you going to blame him for that even though it’s your fault?” She notices me flinch which gives her a triumphant aura. A proud and sarcastic smile tugs her lips. “It’s a small world, Austra. You forgot to clear your search history, and I saw him drop you off here.”

“He has nothing to do with this.”

“Really? Seems like I hit a bullseye.“

“Can’t you just leave me alone?” I fume. It feels like a secret of mine has been exposed for the world to know and make fun of. It is one thing to know someone’s name, and it is another to know the person. I don’t want Leslie to know him. She has everything. She can’t take Yuri away from me. Although I do want to avoid him, I still think that he is the only thing I have that Leslie can never have. It’s stupid, I know. But I want to feel like there’s something that is only for me–not us or her. I want to feel like he’s all to myself.

Not wanting to argue with her anymore, I retreat to my room. As I close the door, I hear Leslie scoff, “Go and hide in your room. That’s what you’re good at. Hiding.” It is truly amusing and odd to realize how my sister is able to suddenly turn into an even more awful person despite crying like she is the reason why there is still plenty of bodies of water on earth.

I lock my door, slide my back against it, and take a picture of the wall using my phone. I am about to send Yuri the picture just so he can know that I am currently devastated with so much emotions, and that I need someone to talk to. However, as I am about to send it, I find myself throwing my phone to the bed. I stare at the wall, feeling hopeless, frustrated and confused. I am giving up so many things for my freedom, and yet my stand wavers because of my emotions and feelings. A month from now, I won’t be in this room. A month from now, I won’t have this heavy feeling in my chest after fighting with my sister. A month from now, I’ll be gone. A month from now, I won’t be seeing him anymore, and he won’t be one of my problems.

Sometimes I wish my family has never been like this–like, I wish I’d never have to look at Leslie or Mom with dislike. In an alternate universe, are we still a family? Are Leslie and I like this? Will we be the kind of sisters that only fight about material things or stupid stuff? Will we have nights when we sleep late due to talking to each other about random topics? Will we have a sleepover with Clementine or other girls? Do we talk about boys, grades or fashion? Will I ever know what kind of guys Leslie is into? Will I ever be able to talk to her about who I like?

If Mom took me first before Leslie, would I be the same? Would Leslie be miserable about that?

If Dad chased after Mom and asked her to stay, would they still be together after five years? Ten? Fifteen? Twenty?

If I never stopped talking to Clementine, would we still be chatting each other up or would she abandon me? Would we still be best friends?

This is the ugly thing about my reality: I always hate my now’s and fall for my if’s.

If I had never accepted Yuri’s handkerchief that day, would he still have meant so much to me? Would I end up like this–wanting to talk to someone I think I need to avoid?

I do not hate him nor do I regret meeting him, but what I hate is how he can suddenly occupy my thoughts when I should be thinking about something else or when I should be planning for my escape. He just randomly pops in my head. What I hate is how he can make me wage a war on whether or not I should still hold on or let go. He makes it difficult for me to continue dreaming of my escape. I have planned it for months, years. Then he came along and made me feel like someone out there is listening to me–that someone out there can actually distract me, and that I may not actually have to leave. And what I hate the most is how Leslie made me realize that Yuri is actually a weakness of mine–that after all this time, he might not be just a friend to me.

And it makes sense.

He has turned some of my usually dragging and exhausting days into something worthwhile. I find him absolutely adorable. I like his smile. I do not want to hurt him. I can’t seem to make my mind up on ignoring him. I think of him as an escape from here. I find myself paying more attention to him. It’s like he immediately became important to me.

In novels and movies, characters realize that they have fallen in love with someone during a cheesy moment _with_ the person or perhaps when they meet the person for the first time. It usually happens when someone is laughing, smiling or showcasing his talent. Sometimes it can also be when someone is too gorgeous, that a person gets taken aback.

In my life, I realize that I _may_ have fallen in love with Yuri after having been confronted about him–after crying as I bury my face in the comfort of my palms while my back is leaned against the door and I am sitting on the cold floor, feeling like I am making a huge mistake. The only background music that I have is the deafening silence being interrupted from time to time by my muffled cries.

Such realization gives me pain. I hate how different my moment of realization is from other people’s. I hate how I haven’t noticed it because of thinking too much about Dad and my plans. I hate how I really have to avoid him, so I can leave without getting more and more attached. I hate how I can’t have an average teen girl’s life and experience things normally. This is not a romantic or cute or even cheesy moment. Nobody is smiling, laughing or talking. Someone is just crying while feeling alone, lonely and miserable. This is just a depressing moment for a crestfallen girl who no longer knows what she is crying about. That girl is me, Austra: the girl who’s always around but never really present, who either makes the wrong decision or feels the wrong feeling.


	19. Chapter 19

The days have been so slow in passing. On Tuesday, we had a surprise quiz about the lesson that was taught when I was absent. I do not think that I am going to pass that at all since I had no clue on what the lesson was. Wednesday, I got back to my usual routine in life: wake up, eat, prepare for school, study, go home, eat and then sleep. This went on until Friday.

The predictability of my everyday is back. What I do in order to break it is organize my things from time to time. I do it when I feel like searching for _him_. It is my way of distracting myself because if I do not do anything, I might look at _his_ instagram and try to contact him. He has sent me messages, and I have not replied to any of them despite getting urges to do so.

It is Saturday evening. I am leaning against my bed as I sit on the cold floor. My earphones are singing me a lullaby while I am closing my eyes. I can feel a chill running down my spine, reminding me of someone’s name. My heart is beating along as though it is one with the song. I have put it on repeat as I wait for my father’s reply to my message on our chat. The song playing is Agape. It is the song where Yuri is an angel begging for a prayer – where he is both him and not him.

I think about today’s shift. When Yuri approached the desk, I pretended that I was busy doing something, so Valeria could tend to him instead. Once he got his own skates, he left. I caught him looking back at us at the desk for a few times. It broke my heart to see him. It broke my heart to have to avoid him. I am so unfair to Yuri.

Tears are running down my face again. I think I have gotten used to crying and feeling so much pain inside me. I think I have gotten used to not being happy, and just becoming miserable.

Someone is knocking on my door. The sound is so loud that the music I am listening to gets a duet with it. I hear a familiar voice–the voice of my proud sister. I remove my earphones.

“It won’t kill you to go outside and eat.”

I put my earphones back.

Leslie kicks on my door. The impact is too strong. I can tell just from the noise. It must have hurt. I can almost hear her sudden groan from the other side. But then, she recovers immediately and says, “You are such a burden.”

I take my phone and raise the volume just so I can shut myself out from the world. Lately, I have discovered that the ways to escape reality are through sleeping and listening to music. I pull my knees closer to my chest, resting my chin on them. It is weird, though. I do not feel happy, I do not feel sad. I feel numb, empty. The only thing I know about feeling like that is that it is nowhere near being happy, but it is definitely worse than being sad.

I open my eyes and look at different corners, different sides of my room, trying to remember what I am seeing because I may not wake up in this place someday. I may no longer see the same room. Somehow, this time, my room does not look depressing at all. Moreover, the one occupying this room does.

Will my escape do anything at all? I mean, do I really have to leave just so I can feel something else? Why do I even want to? Because of wanting to be with Dad and wanting to be away from Mom and Leslie? Are those really my reasons? Do they weigh anything at all?


	20. Chapter 20

I am still alone, lonely, hurt, and wretched. I am still alone, lonely, hurt, and wretched. I am still alone, lonely, hurt, and wretched. I am still alone, lonely, hurt, and wretched. I am still alone, lonely, hurt, and wretched. I am still alone, lonely, hurt, and wretched. I am still alone, lonely, hurt, and wretched. I am still alone, lonely, hurt, and wretched. I am still alone, lonely, hurt, and wretched. I am still alone, lonely, hurt, and wretched. I am still alone, lonely, hurt, and wretched. I am still alone, lonely, hurt, and wretched. I am still alone, lonely, hurt, and wretched. I am still alone, lonely, hurt, and wretched. I am still alone, lonely, hurt, and wretched. I am still alone, lonely, hurt, and wretched. I am still alone, lonely, hurt, and wretched. I am still alone, lonely, hurt, and wretched. I am still alone, lonely, hurt, and wretched. I am still alone, lonely, hurt, and wretched.

I am still here.


	21. Chapter 21

When I was still a child, I loved the song Row, Row, Row Your Boat. It was strangely amusing for me. I’d always anticipate the part of “life is but a dream” because it appealed to me a lot. There was even a time when Leslie and I were singing it in our bedroom, then I stopped and asked her that if life were really a dream then it would mean that Mom, Dad, her, and I didn’t really exist, and we might not be an actual family. Leslie cried that night. Dad couldn’t stop himself from chuckling and saying how silly we were. Mom tried to calm Leslie down while my sister kept on whining about how she didn’t want a different mother or sister or father. She was scared. We were both so innocent and vulnerable then.

I should have seen that moment as a warning that someday Mom would be the one caring for Leslie while Dad would be the one being buddies with me. It was a sign, yet I overlooked it.

Lately, nothing good ever comes after waking up. I have ruined everything, and yet whoever is above there thinks that I can still fix what I have messed up. In reality, no, I cannot. Everything is a mistake.

Mom looks at me and smiles like there is nothing wrong with me. She is unaware of my plans to abandon her. She gives me guilt when she should be the one drenched in regret. She makes me feel sick.

Leslie never fails to stir up an argument with me. Her hatred towards me is getting more and more obvious. She acts like I am the problem, and that I am ungrateful and rude despiteher being the bitchy person between the two of us.

Dad told me that he might arrive here next next week.

Valeria does not really contact me at all. What do I expect? We are only co-workers, right? There is no reason for her to care about me. However, I kind of wish she would check up on me.

While Yuri…

Yuri has started avoiding me. The other week I made Valeria tend to him instead. Last week I entertained him the way I would entertain other customers. Yesterday he came with this irritated expression on his face, and I heard Yakov criticizing his recent skating. He won first place, yet his coach seemed to have seen flaws from his performance. I did not even know that he had competed at all. When Valeria gave him his skates, I had this urge to call out to him, so I did. I told him that either way he’s still talented and great–that his performance would have meant a lot for him to actually win. He gave me a sharp look and said, “What do you even know about skating?” He left after that–he had gone after leaving a crack on my glass heart. He has stopped sending me messages, and I can’t really blame him for that.

I can no longer handle each day. I am alone and hopeless. I wish I am no longer here. I want to be with Dad already and be away from this place. I just want to leave. It is getting tiring. The days are fast yet the time is slow. My life here is a nightmare. I want the dream to end.


	22. Chapter 22

My father has told me that he will be flying over here next week although he is still not sure of the date. I have prepared some of my clothes, as well as some of my stuff. I am planning tofit them in two of my backpacks since I do not really have a particular bag for traveling. Folded shirts are laid down on my bed while I stand in front of my cabinet. I take a glance around my room and catch a glimpse of Paper Towns on my desk. I think about whether or not I should bring the book with me since lately it has been what’s keeping me company. I take it and put it next to the shirts. I then change my mind and put everything on my desk. After that, I throw myself to my bed and bury my weight on the mattress. I close my eyes. A few minutes pass by before I fall into the abyss of sleep.

Morning has come, and I get off of my bed once my eyes have opened themselves. I head to the kitchen and prepare breakfast for me and the two other inhabitants here. After making breakfast, I eat my share then immediately put the dish by the sink after finishing it.

I am a robot. There is nothing to feel, but there is too much to do. I can only act, but emptiness is all I am ever going to know. Each day is just time trying to run away from me. Once I have prepared myself for school, I go and attend classes. During discussion, I listen and take down notes. During recitation, I either participate or just mind my own business. During breaks, I either do not eat or buy food from the cafeteria but eat it inside a cubicle just so I cannot feel that being alone is not good.

It is my last class for the day, and it takes me a while to realize that I have a low grade on one of our papers which has just been returned. I sit here, on my seat, staring at the paper on my desk that is marked with red inks of judgment. I get it and search through different pages. By the last page, there’s a note from my teacher: _This isn’t the topic. Have you been listening at all?_ I fold the paper and hide it inside my bag, hoping that the grade can hide away from me, as well. I have failed the last quiz, and now I have been reprimanded by my score for this. 

Once the class is dismissed, I immediately gather my things then head outside. I try to envision myself being the only person walking down the halls. No blurred faces, no groups of friends laughing, no anything at all. I put my earphones on, put St. Clarity by The Paper Kites on repeat, and mute the world, gathering every universe the song can offer me.

When I am finally outside, I look up to the sky and introduce myself to it before taking a deep breath and looking away. The wind blows people’s secrets against me and encourages me to run and search for the feeling of adrenaline rushing through my veins. Instead of running, however, I continue to walk. Every step makes each of my feet become heavier, giving me the usual realization of how _I don’t want to go home yet._ I tuck my hair behind my ear and take a deep breath again. The air filling my lungs is too much. I almost want my lungs to collapse at the moment just so I do not have to go back home again.

It is sad how cities lack trees. I would rather _make_ myself lost in the forest rather than the city. In the city, there are conscious beings around you that may or may not care about your well-being despite being able to give a damn. In the forest, the trees are willing to comfort you and they are just there, standing and waiting. Somehow, right now, I want to be lost in this place. But I cannot. I have memorized my path, as well as possible detours. I can choose someplace else to go to, but in the end, I am still gonna have to go back. The ending of my everyday is always at where I begin it–in the place that has bathed me with so much sorrow.

The wind does not cease on sharing blown words and kisses as I keep on walking while mouthing the lyrics of the song. I feel the need for warmth as it is getting cold. I leave out a huge sigh and see my breath appear and disappear in the air for a moment. When I finally get the feeling that I am already close to the front of the building, I lift my gaze.

Right across from me is a man wearing a navy blue hoodie. My vision of a lonely world is ruined once I realize who he is. His pair of tiger-print sneakers is what gave it away. He immediately notices me, and our gazes connect. Nostalgia hits me, for this has happened already. However, back then all I could give was a gaze. Right now, besides that, my heart is knocking off the ice that has covered it. I am confused if the beats I am hearing are from the song or from my own blood pump. My heart has immediately offered its own music for him. It is undeniably impulsive when it comes to him; yet I try to shut it out, wanting myself to be able to get past the blonde guy without being confronted.

I walk again and shift my gaze to the building. I can feel his eyes on me, watching my every move and making me become self-conscious. I hear him say something, but I cannot really understand it because of the song. I remove my earphones and face him, forgetting that I should be ignoring him in just a blink of an eye. He has immediately gotten me undone; hence, I am reminded that this is the proof of my weakness. _He_ is my weakness.

“You weren’t there last week,” he says as his sharp eyes stare at me and give me a look that demands answers. I cannot even tell if they are purely blue or green. It is like both colors contribute to give his eyes more life, and only he can make such calm colors be flexible for each emotion and expression. I have not been able to see his face this way lately: I have not been able to watch it change its expressions as he is with me. It would be a lie if I were to say that I did not miss it at all. It would be a bigger and more obvious lie if I were to say that I did not miss him at all.

Electricity has gotten into my system. There is a current that is flowing inside me that makes me have this urge to move or even speak as though nothing had happened. It makes me want to pretend that I have never avoided him, and wants me to just go ahead and annoy the guy. However, I am not that insensitive. I am aware of how upsetting I must be right now to him. I have so many things that I want to say yet none of them can leave my head and come out with my voice: _I miss you. I am sorry. It was not your fault. I am leaving. Goodbye. I do not want to leave you. Thank you._

“Yeah,” is all I can say. I do not have the courage to lie to him right now. I have missed him so much to even want to poison my words for him, so all I can say is a word that is not accompanied by either a lie or a truth.

“Valeria said that you quit. Is it because of me?”

My mouth is sewn shut. The words are still inside me–in a bubble that is yet to flow and pop in the sky.

“Tell me, did I do something wrong? Did I do _anything_ wrong?”

“You didn’t,” I whisper, but it isn’t loud enough for him to hear.

“Why did you just start avoiding and ignoring me? You said that you were okay. You said that I was– I don’t get you at all.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” I tell him.

“Then stop making others feel like they’ve given you hell when they haven’t,” his tone is that of a scolding, as if he is reprimanding me of my behavior. I catch a glimpse of watery eyes that immediately get hidden by blonde hair. He is no longer looking at me; and I can see his fists shake due to anger. I can’t blame him for that. Does Yuri want to punch me? Should I be afraid? Or are his fists really just trembling without any intention to give me harm?

Words conquer my mind, and the ones that are allowed to come out of my mouth are “Are you mad?” This sends Yuri to raise his head and glare at me. I wait for the blow–the contact of his skin to my face. Instead, nothing happens. He does not do anything but glare.

“What the hell? What do you think?” The seemingly appearing tears a while ago are gone. It is as though Yuri has tried to hide his face away from me just so I cannot see a sign of pain from him.

“You want to punch me?”

“Why would I even want to punch you?” he growls even though what he is saying means that he has no intention of hurting me. He runs his hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. “I just wanna know why you’re staying away from me.”

I am quiet for a minute or two. As I stare at him, I remember all the times he has given me chicken nuggets, so I go and ask him about it. “Where are my chicken nuggets?”

He blinks for a moment, and a shade of pink on his cheeks becomes more obvious than the color on the tip of his nose that is due to the coldness of the place. He takes something from his backpack then hands whatever it is to me.

“Are you serious?” I ask him, taking his offer.

“I never knew what your favorite food is,” he says. He wears his backpack again.

“Why are you so nice to me? I mean, you were a jerk back then.” Right now, you’re just this upset guy who just suddenly comes around with chicken nuggets to give to me. And you really have a way of making me contradict myself. You have a way of pulling me back to you. How can you be like that?

“Because I care,” he quickly answers. I smile at him, finding his immediate response as something undeniably sweet. He pauses and stares. The glare fades away, and the upset man in front of me calms down.

“Thanks, Yuri,” I tell him. He scratches the back of his head, looking embarrassed. Yet I ruin the moment. “But you don’t have to keep being friends with me, honestly. Especially now that–“

“If it hurt you that much when you were abandoned, why must you do the same to people who actually care?”

“You’re the _only one_ who cares,” I correct him, and add, “Yet you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” his answer is as quick as the rhythm of my beating heart. He lifts his chin, gives me his intimidating gaze–that of a punk. “Got a problem with that?”

“Yuri, don’t keep me from leaving this place.”

“What?”

“Don’t give me a reason to stay.”

“I’m not even giving any.”

“You’re enough as a reason,” I mumble, hoping he does and doesn’t hear me. The truth has come out, and it is the one I have known for quite some time–the reason as to why I have started ignoring him. “Look, it was better when you ignored me. I deserved that, and I still deserve it. You do not need to do this. Dad will be here, and I _will_ leave with him. This ‘friendship’ is not real. I was lonely, and I really needed someone. I don’t want any of it anymore. That’s it. I’m sorry.” _There_ is the poison. It has been put in action. The resistance to lie to Yuri has gone.

Yuri gets quiet. He is breathing heavily, as if each breath is a way to keep himself from losing it. Maybe he is losing his patience with me. Maybe it is going to be the way of completely keeping him away from me. It is going to hurt me, I am sure. But pain fades away at some point, right? And whatever I feel for him can go with that pain– _just like Mom and Dad’s feelings for each other_.

“You’re not even sure if leaving is really going to make anything better. Pathetic.”

“I know.”

“You’re hella kidding, right?”

“No. I am serious.”

“So that’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Yuri clicks his tongue, runs his fingers through his hair again, and looks even more upset than ever. He kicks his right foot in the air, as though he is kicking a rock to move although there is none. “This is bullshit,” he spits his words, “And you’re a liar.”

“What about skating at the rink? Watching a movie? What were your reactions then? All those teasing and laughing. All the sarcasm you threw at me. How can’t something be real when you were so genuine back then?”

“Just leave me alone.” I do not want him to, but I know that I need him to do that. _I’m sorry, Yuri. I’m so, so, so sorry._

I can no longer handle the silence and the way I just lied to him. I turn around and run my way to the entrance. I get inside the building and search for our place, and then my room. I lock the door, rewinding what just happened in my head over and over. I have done it. I have lost him. I have officially pushed him away. And yet I hate how I have become so cruel.

I go and get my other backpack, and stuff it with some of the things I prepared last night. I need to distract myself from my overpowering thoughts of how I have become closer to resembling the person I do not want to become, taken Yuri for granted and turned into this much of a liar. I try to silence all my thoughts because they keep on telling me that I have become just like my very own mother. No matter, next week will be my last week here. Nothing is going to haunt me, and I will be free. No more guilt, no more pain, no more sadness, no more lies. Just freedom and a new beginning.

I think so. I hope so.


	23. Chapter 23

I am at the living room, sitting on the couch while watching the tiny box filled with moving creatures behind its screen. It is already past 2 am, yet I am very awake – almost like my body and my mind refuse to let me rest. Despite the darkness of the room and the irritating brightness of the screen of the television, I cannot be bothered enough to make myself turn the television off or turn the room’s lights on. A frown has glued itself on my face, and it is scaring me how it might be permanent.

These days, nothing seems to make sense. Everything is pointless. _I_ am empty. There is nothing but the resonating silence that is hiding within me. It is echoing because my sadness hits nothing but the walls I have put around me and bounces back to every side of my heart. Sometimes, I have this feeling that I want to cry an ocean and drown myself with it. I have this feeling that I am almost no more because it is like I have nothing and no one at all. But then again, I have to have no one no matter how badly I want to have a friend or a companion because my plans might get ruined.

I have known such thoughts for such a long time, yet they keep on going inside my head as if I always have to be reminded of them. Although I know that I have done things to satisfy my thoughts, every time I think of them, I cannot avoid getting hurt. It has gotten to the point where I am wondering if my heart is betraying my thoughts or if my thoughts are betraying my heart. I am torn, confused and frustrated. The irony, the contradictions. Everything is so messed up.

I am ambivalent and damned.

Another source of irritating brightness joins the television. With it is a tune that I am familiar of. I stare at it for a little while before finally convincing myself that I have to pick it up. I look at my phone and see that Dad is calling me. I immediately answer it. My heart races, like beats too loud for me to hear. I gulp, swallowing every nervousness that is getting wild inside me.

“Hello?” My voice is shaky, kinda like fear is being voiced out.

“Did I wake you up? I shouldn’t have called.”

“No. I was…” I look around me, thinking of an excuse for still being up even though he is not even in front of me–even though Dad is not even reprimanding me. “I was working on a project.”

“Oh. We can talk in the morning instead,” Dad says, his voice breathy yet comforting.

“No. It’s okay. I’ve just finished it, actually,” my voice is loud at first, but it slowly gets softer. “Why did you call?” I ask him. Something about my question bugs me. It sounds like Dad has just disturbed me or like I want to finish the conversation as quickly as possible.

“Thought you’d love to know that I have just arrived here.”

“Here? What do you mean? Are you-“

“I’m in Russia now.”

Nobody has ever told me that a string of words can be a blow to the head. I pull my knees to my chest, stare at the television’s screen while my phone is against my right ear. My left arm has wrapped itself around my knees, kind of securing them to be in place. My right hand, the one holding the phone, is trembling. My voice is caught in my throat.

“That’s all, actually. You should go to sleep now. It’s late. We can talk in the morning or afternoon. Which do you prefer?”

“Um…” I become tongue-tied. Speech has suddenly become quite difficult. My thoughts are leaving me, and my words are all fading away. My voice is trapped in a cage it has to get out of.

“There’s no pressure, dear,” he says then chuckles. “You can just leave me a message in the morning and tell me if you’re up for it. We can do it on the next day, even.”

“No. It’s alright. Um, tomorrow–I mean, this morning will be great.”

“It _is_ Saturday, right? If it’s a school day and you’re just looking for a reason to miss your class, it would be quite the trouble.”

I fake a laugh just to make me seem less awkward. “Okay, Dad.” Hearing myself call him my father is like hearing myself trying to confirm something. It is like I am convincing myself with something that is already true just to hold myself together. I end the call, no longer able to last another second of it. What the hell am I doing? I should be rejoicing. I should be happy. Yet here I am, being crashed at by a wave of numbness and doubt.

Dad is here. I can finally leave. I can finally be happy. Right?

I take the remote and turn the television off. I lie myself on the sofa, too lazy to head to my own room. I turn to my side and close my eyes. All I have to do is fall asleep then wake up and then see Dad.

“What time did you sleep last night?” Leslie asks me as she cleans up the table. She puts the plates by the sink. Mom is tying her hair, fixing herself before leaving for work. She is looking at me, waiting for me to answer my sister’s question.

“Did you stay up late last night?” Mom questions. She is done tying her hair in a bun. She turns to Leslie. My sister shrugs her shoulders and pouts. Then she faces the sink and starts washing dishes. “I think I saw her watching TV last night when I went to the bathroom.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” I tell them. Both of them turn to look at me. Somehow, today’s morning seems so off. They sound like they are concerned about whatever it is I have been doing despite the fact that they are just shitty people in most days. Also, I am so detached, like I am watching myself from afar to see how this last moment with them will go.

“Why? Is it about school?” Mom puts a hand on her waist and crosses her arms in front of her chest as an eyebrow is raised.

“Maybe,” Leslie answers. I straighten my posture, tilt my head. “What do you mean?” I ask, curious as to why she has said that.

“Saw your paper,” she says, “Austra had this paper where she got a low mark. I saw it on her table.”

“What? Austra, have you been out of it lately?” Mom has concern written all over her face.

“No. I’m fine. I just misunderstood the instructions.” I calm her down.

“When did you go into my room? Why _were_ you in my room? Don’t you know what privacy is?” I hiss. Despite how I sound mad and upset, I am not mad and upset. There is nothing to feel, but there are labels of feelings that I can believe that I feel, even though I do not.

“Chill. I am not a robber. I was searching for you. Turned out that you were outside. By the way,” she trails off. She stops washing dishes, turns around, wipes her wet hands on her clothes. “I passed by Yuri the other day.”

“Who’s Yuri?”

“This cute skater who goes to the place where she’s working.”

“Where I _previously_ worked,” I correct, “It’s natural for him to go there. He’s a skater. There’s a rink.”

“Nonetheless,” she ignores me, “I saw him just right in front of the building, walking.”

I look away, feeling guilty and also haunted. Yuri, again. Why? Of all times, why now? Today is my last day. Can’t he at least give me a rest and let me spend a day without being reminded of his existence and how cruel I have become to him? It seems like no matter what I do, he just pops up out of nowhere. What was he doing then? Why was he around?

“Maybe he bought cat food and just decided to randomly take a walk somewhere,” I say.

“How do you even know that he has a cat?” Mom asks me. Leslie smiles.

“Maybe she stalked him once. Online,” Leslie kids. “You should search him up. He’s actually really _really_ good at skating.” No, Yuri being good at skating is a huge understatement, Leslie. You do not know what you are saying.

“If I have a lot of time, I will. Sadly, work does not allow you to have time for yourself,” she complains. She checks the time on the clock then tells us that she has to get going.

“No worries, Mom. We understand.” Leslie smiles. Mom apologizes.

“Wait. I almost forgot. I’m going to meet up with a classmate. It’s for a project.” And there’s the farewell lie.

“Don’t go home late,” Mom tells me. “I hope we can have another talk,” she says with a cheerful expression. She faces me, “I’ll search him up next time.” Then she leaves.

Awkward silence falls upon us. Leslie gets back to what she is doing. I hear running water. I hear the sound of plates moving against each other as another one is picked up. The smile on Leslie’s face is no more. It is like she had just put on a facade.

“Was it all for show?”

Leslie does not answer. She does not look at me. She is staring at her hands, refusing to lift her gaze.

“Thought so,” I say, feeling disappointed.

Somehow, that short talk a while ago was like the kind of time I wanted to experience spending with an actual loving sister. I have always wanted to know what it’s like to talk about boys or, specifically, a boy I find attractive with her. If we have only been quite close and fond of each other, we might be criticizing each other’s crushes and taste in men. Or, perhaps, make fun of each other in public. Also, it is the first time that I felt like Mom made an effort to actually bond with us even if it was just for a short span of minutes.

“How long will you act like you know everything?” she tells me. I roll my eyes and leave her.

I go to my room, double-checking my stuff. I make sure that I have prepared everything. I check my phone and read Dad’s message. Then I take my charger and charge my phone. I go to the bathroom despite already having taken a bath this morning. Right now, I am here just to check if I look okay enough to go and see my father. I stare at my reflection in the mirror and despise the girl I see while convincing myself that all the hatred is going to disappear soon. My heart is heavy, yet my thoughts are dictating my interpretation of my own feelings. I tuck some hair behind my ears. I look into my eyes and see dull and lifeless windows of my soul. I take a deep breath, then I let it go. I head back to my room, then I wear my backpack as I carry the other one. I take deep breaths again.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Breathe in. Breathe out. In. Out. In. Out.

Then my feet begin to move. The steps are towards my escape–the beginning of a new life. I whisper a goodbye to myself, as though I am leaving a part of me here. My steps are getting larger until they are no more of walking. I am hurrying to get out of the building and take a cab to go to where Dad and I would meet. The heavy heart of mine is now racing, near to the point of coming out of my chest. My hands are starting to tremble. I am nervous, afraid and a tad bit terrified. I have no idea why, but what I am feeling is the complete opposite of what I should feel. As I sit inside the cab and wait until I get to my destination, I am taking deep breaths to calm myself down.

I guess I am finally free.


	24. Chapter 24

I don’t think I have ever known what it’s like to feel a man’s stubble against my cheek until today. Surprisingly, it can be both ticklish and irritating, like it’s trying to graze my skin. No blood comes out, but the feeling like there’s this cheese grater on my face is something that can be quite intolerable. However, if the man behind such source of discomfort is my father or someone I hold dear, then perhaps I can try harder to ignore it or tolerate it regardless of not being a fan.

Dad has his arms around me, giving me a warm embrace. Time has gone so fast to lead me here, almost like anything that happened before our meeting happened years ago. There are people who are giving us looks. There are also those who are polite enough to mind their own business. I feel safe yet not safe, at home yet not at home.

When he breaks our contact, he gives me a proud smile. He looks so glad, like he has missed me all this time. He adjusts his glasses, then fixes his coat. I can almost tell that he probably flew over here after his work. Or perhaps, this is a business trip. Even so, today is the day. I have to convince him. I must not go back.

“Have you eaten?”

“Breakfast.”

“You beat me to it, huh?” he does this _thinking pose_ –a pose Mom noticed him do whenever he is considering some options or contemplating about something.

“But I am _kinda_ hungry. Plus, it’s almost twelve,” I tell him, so he won’t have to think too hard of what we should do to pass some time. I guess I am not the only one nervous.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.”

He gives me a cheeky grin. He takes the bag I’m carrying with my right hand and motions me to follow him. I walk beside him, trying to think of a topic I can raise in case a moment of silence besets us. I do not want him to find me disappointing and boring, yet I do not want him to think that I am trying too hard to impress him.

“Why do you have this?” he raises my bag. “Going somewhere?”

“Sleepover,” I lie. For now, I won’t tell him yet. He might reject me right here right now if I admit it immediately. I take a look around and see people. Unlike how I see them before, I find myself blending in with others. I am walking right next to a person, and we have each other’s company.

We head to Waffle House. It is where we used to go to whenever we were having a vacation in Russia. That was when we were still complete. It is quite difficult to keep on spending the time of my life in the present yet still compare it to my past. It is not my fault, though. It is Mom’s. If she hadn’t left that day, then we would’ve all been here when we could, having a vacation and eating breakfast or brunch.

The familiar smell of waffles fills my nose. I suddenly remember the time Mom made pancakes. I let out a heavy sigh at the thought of my own mother. Dad, on the other hand, is having a hard time on choosing which meal he would order. He lowers the menu and looks at me. He notices that I am no longer looking at my own menu. “Have an order already?” he asks. I nod. He raises his hand, calls for someone to serve us.

A girl walks up to us. She seems intimidating and a bit scary. Nonetheless, my father goes on to place an order.

“I’ll have cheese ’n’ eggs with bacon and raisin toast. Regular coffee. Classic blend.”

He puts down the menu then looks at me.

“Double waffle and orange juice. Large.”

She asks if thats everything, and Dad says yes. She repeats our orders. After she confirms that she got them right, she takes the menus then heads to the counter.

“So,” Dad catches my attention, “How’s your mother?”

“Fine, I guess.”

“And Leslie?”

“Fine, too.”

“How about school? How have you been?”

“Okay? Although I did kinda fail at a reaction paper. I got the instructions wrong.”

“Were you listening to the teacher or were you busy talking with your seatmates?” he kids. I smile at him, not because I am guilty of his accusation, but because I can barely make friends at school, let alone talk with one of the people sitting next to me.

“Better stay focused. Have you figured out what you want to do once you graduate?”

“Honestly, Dad, I haven’t. Maybe I’ll take Psychology or something. It’d be nice if it were somewhere else. Like, in a foreign place. You know, for better exposure.”

“Better listen well to your teachers then,” he jokes. Although he seems playful, there is an undeniable awkwardness going on between us. He looks so tense just like I do.

“Yeah.”

Silence.

He looks right past me, kind of like trying to see if our orders will be served soon.

Silence.

Say something, Dad. Please.

Silence.

If he can’t say anything, then someone else must speak. _Say something, Austra. Do not let the conversation stop. Keep it going._ “Um, Dad…”

“How have you been?” I ask him one of the most boring yet overused questions in the history of mankind. Still, it is better than asking nothing at all.

Dad looks at me. His eyes filled with curiosity–perhaps it is due to my strange or sudden timing to ask such question. He grins, shrugs off his shoulders, and shakes his head a bit. Then he stops. “Wow. I don’t know where to begin,” he says, still looking interested.

“I got promoted,” he gives me his proud smile yet I return my awkward yet forced one. “That’s great,” I tell him. I know that I should be happy for him, but I somehow cannot relate myself to him. It is like I know what I should do, yet I cannot simply do it like it is that easy. It is not easy to fake something that you do not feel–especially happiness. However, haven’t I been faking a lot of things? How come I can’t fake _this_? I should be a master of this already.

“Been quite busy. Wouldn’t want to upset anyone.”

The girl from before arrives and serves us our orders. Dad immediately asks for the bill. The girl nods then leaves again.

“Nothing much is going on except for work and…” he pauses. His smile disappears. “And…” he trails off again, as if he is thinking twice about saying something or as if he is trying to remember what it is that he has to say.

“Let’s just eat, shall we?” he cheerfully says.

I watch my dad for a few seconds. A dreading feeling is looming over me.

“Aren’t you going to eat? I mean, I can eat those for you, if you want me to,” he kids. I give him a pathetic smile from my pathetic self.

“Of course, I’ll eat them. Waffles are delicious,” I tell him with fake joy.

My eyes go back to him from time to time, and I cannot help but think of how being apart from him for so long has actually made both of us quite like strangers to ourselves. I used to appreciate the silence between us, but now, the silence is humiliating–like I am failing to connect myself to him. The day is not done yet, but disappointment is starting to build inside me.

Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic.


	25. Chapter 25

“So,” I begin as I stare at my father, still processing the reality that he is in front of me, and that I have to convince him to take me with him on his return.

The weight of my heart is holding me down like an enormous and heavy anchor that refuses to let a ship leave. I clench my fists, then open them as though I am trying to let go of something. Every turn makes me put more force into it until I stop and notice a pink color on my palms.

It is quite strange how time seems to go so slowly when you take note of almost every move you make because in reality what thousands of words can describe in passing is just an occurrence in the suddenness of time. And right now, no matter how many times I open and clench my fists, I am feeling like time has been suspended.

Dad continues to sip on his cup of coffee while reading something on his phone – the kind of phone that nobody in my current household would happen to have. I envy him for being able to live without us, _without me_. He is all by himself yet he is alright. With Mom and Leslie, I am not even fine in many ways possible.

I watch him get focused on his phone. He is like a man reading a very interesting article for the first time. It almost feels wrong to be around him while he is busy reading a message or an article or whatever it is he is reading on his phone. I look to the left, then to the right. Left, right, left, right, left, right then ahead.

“Dad, how long are you staying here?”

No answer.

I clear my throat and repeat my question, pretending that I am asking it for the first time. I put on a sweet smile as he finally notices me. He apologizes and lets out a short and obviously fake chuckle.

“A couple of days. Perhaps a week. Why?”

“Um, I…” The words have betrayed me. I cannot think of anything else to say. Impending doom has caught and twisted my tongue.

He puts his phone away. His hands are now together in a way that most men pose in during business meetings. I feel pressured to speak and carry out my plan, that I am wondering if now is really the right time to say it.

He raises his eyebrows and puts on a forced smile as though he is trying to make me less tense–but the thing is that he _is not_ making me less tense by doing that. He is encouraging me to drown in my pool of uncertainty and confusion.

“It’s hot, isn’t it?” I ask. He tilts his head to the side.

“Hot?”

“I mean cold! Cold. Cold. Too cold.” I want to hit my head on the table for the forced conversation initiator I gave. I just told him that it’s hot when people walk along the streets wearing thick clothes, sweaters, scarfs. Even Dad is obviously wondering where warmth can be found in Saint Petersburg.

“You okay, dear?” Concern flashes in his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah,” I fake laugh my way out of the humiliation. I start fiddling with my fingers. “It’s just that it’s been a while. I almost don’t know what to say.”

“You don’t have to force yourself to talk if you don’t want to.” There goes his reassuring smile.

“Dad, I do want to talk, but I don’t know how.”

“Then just talk. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“It’s not that simple. I-”

“You want to ask about why your mother left back then?” he guesses, and although he is wrong, I nod my head. The topic has always been dodged or avoided, but if he were actually finally comfortable with answering that, then I guess a little delay is fine.

“Wow, um…” He looks to his left, then his right, like he’s searching for an ally. He takes a deep breath. Just like I did. Just like how his daughter did a while ago.

He exhales loudly, a whistle ending the escape of air from his mouth. He lays his hands flat on the table.

“It’s because of me. I was too focused with my job, that I couldn’t even bring myself to properly spend some time with you. I’d pick my phone up every time someone gave me a call. I would immediately leave the house once asked to, not even trying to ask if I could do the task some other time or if someone else could do it instead. When I am at home, I am tired. Always tired. She kept on saying how I acted like I didn’t have a family.

“Your mother wanted more from me. Both as her husband and your father. But I became a stranger to my role. She got tired of my excuses–of me. We grew apart from each other until one of us could no longer stand the other.”

That is not how I remember my father at all. I am lost.

I blink. Once. Twice. Thrice. I do not know. But what I know is that I am confused.

Who is he talking about? I remember Dad spending his time with us. I remember him holding me in the air while Mom is warning him about how I could fall. He would try to calm her down by saying how he would catch me if I ever did. But that never worked. He has always been around.

Leslie would be by herself. Like a loner. And if she did join us, there was this cold aura of hers that made me feel like she was pleading for warmth. Although we were close then, there was already a distance. Yet in an instant, she became the favorite of my mother. The favorite of my _first_ best friend in this world.

“That can’t be true,” my voice wavers. “I don’t even remember the two of you fighting.”

“We argued a lot, Austra. It’s just that we avoided that whenever you and Leslie were around.”

“Still! That shouldn’t be that much of a big deal! A lot of parents in the world have had fights before but–” How come I am the one being totally frustrated? How come Dad’s calm?

“Lower your voice,” Dad reminds me.

“I don’t get it,” I tell him. “Mom must have misunderstood something. I am sure.” Why am I acting like I want them to get back together? _Austra, what do you really want? Do you even know what you’re supposed to do?_

“Dear, do not blame your mother.”

“Then who am I supposed to blame?” I quickly fire at him, only to find myself regretting ever letting those words come out of me. His eyes go wide in surprise.

“Why do you have to _blame_ anyone?”

There is a silence that is unnerving.

Fidget, fidget, fidget.

Dad is watching me with eyes that are quite piercing and intimidating. It’s like I am being suspected of something.

Fidget, fidget, fidget.

“Austra,” his voice is now of authority, like he is ordering me to listen, “Is there a problem?” His expression of concern is like a knife being stabbed into me through my chest then pulled and stabbed and pulled and stabbed and pulled from me. The pain is too lingering and repetitive, like a broken record repeating the last sung syllable of a word from a song in tons of times.

“No.”

The tears are coming, so I lower my head. Shit. Not again.

Fidget, fidget, cry.

“Austra, are you–“ I do not let my Dad continue what he is about to ask. I cut him off with the words in my mind that are dangling with sorrow. My voice is now cracking, like a glass that is taking its form as sound–fragile and delicate.

“It’s just that I never understood why you two separated. Now that you’re telling me this, it doesn’t make sense.”

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. Will there ever be enough air to breathe? I have not even noticed that I have raised my head already.

“Dad, everything is total _shit_ right now. I just want to be away from here. Mom and Leslie drive me crazy. You should have taken me from them long ago. I hate being here.”

“Hold on, dear. Calm down,” he tells me. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I want to leave. I do not want to be in Russia anymore. I want to be somewhere else. Somewhere far away from them. Dad, Mom ruined this family. I just can’t live with the person who screwed me up. I’m tired of her, and Leslie is making everything worse than it already is. Just take me with you, Dad. Please.”

The blue fairies that I pictured my tears as have become pixies with blades making cuts on my face. And though no blood is dripping, I can feel the traces.

“Austra, your mother did not screw you up. She shouldn’t be blamed for what couldn’t be fixed between the two of us. Our separation does not determine you or your entire life. You don’t have to be stuck on that. I’m sorry, but I can’t take you with me.” He raises both of his hands like he is admitting defeat. The moment he lays his hands flat on the surface of the table again, I notice something: a ring. He is wearing a _ring_.

“You can’t take me with you or you won’t take me with you?” I ask, trying to make him clarify what he said just to make sure of something I do not even know.

“What you want is too sudden. Does Eva even know anything about me being here?” His cold, reprimanding voice humiliates me in my own skin to my whole being.

“She doesn’t have to know. She doesn’t care. She _won’t_ care.”

“Austra, has it ever occurred to you that you might be misjudging your mother?”

Having nothing to answer him, I give him the most insulting question that pops up in my head, making sure that what I am going to say is coated with his own words: “Has it ever occurred to you that you might need to invite us to your wedding?”

The presence of the ring is not that clear to me – is it Mom and Dad’s or is it for an engagement? Even so, the expression of Dad–with the sudden pause and the fixation of a serious look, riddles with everything that has “yes” with guilt as an answer. To make matters worse, I ask, “Were you even planning to invite us at all?”

His loss for words is strangling me. He remains quiet, thinking of what he should say. The cup of coffee has not been moved ever since I ruined our conversation. There are more people inside now, yet everyone has a blurred face. I almost want to stand up and shoo them all away so my father and I can have this place for ourselves as we solve the puzzle of our ugly family.

“Did you cheat?”

“No. After you were gone, it took me a while to accept everything. Then it happened. I met _her_.”

He looks like he wants to say more than that, but he stops himself. I stare at him in disbelief, disappointed at him for being able to start his own new life. He notices this and finally decides to dismiss me.

“Let me take you home,” he says, as he makes a mini rectangle in air, signaling the waitress for the bill. “I don’t think that that sleepover of yours is even real, so I’ll drop you off. I have to make sure that you’re not going anywhere else other than home.”

“I can go by myself,” I say.

He ignores me. When I shift in my seat to take my bags, he tells me to stop and wait for him. I snort. “I don’t even have a home. I lost it ever since you and Mom messed up your marriage,” I whisper to myself.

We wait for the waitress, and when she comes back I wait for my father. Then we stand up and leave. We take a cab and head to the place I wanted to run away from. Neither of us can talk during the ride. I do nothing but look at the view given by the window. Fading lines escaping my sight just to become clear on its own ground are exposed to me, while my eyes–my too tired of crying of a pair of eyes, are exposed to them. Nothing stays. We come and go.

When the cab stops, Dad says something to me yet I immediately go out just to enter the apartment. I make sure to slam the door of the car, to let him know of how I feel. As I carry my bags inside, I wait for someone to tap on my shoulder. But there is nobody. No one is following me. No one is apologizing to me. Even my father, the person who I thought was my ally.

And I cry as I stand in front of the door of our place. I let go of my other bag. I leave it by our doorstep then I go back outside, to see if Dad is still there. He is not. He is gone. Probably back to his _better_ life. My heart is crushed. This is what I get for trusting anyone. I can’t even trust anyone for forgiveness.

I recall the events of our meeting, remembering Dad’s focus on his phone. Maybe he wasn’t reading an article, but a message from his woman. After all, he has moved on.

As my palms get to know the feel of my fingertips while I am obviously but a person of little importance right now, I am reminded of Yuri, the angry blonde who happens to have such a soft side to him. He would always have his phone with him and have his attention to it most of the time. However, as I think about it, during the times we spent together before I decided to make a distance between us, he had not been looking at it that much. He has been looking at me. He saw me when nobody else did.

Yuri is such a kind person, and I am such a cruel one.

I search for my phone, afraid of the step I am about to take. Here is my last bet, my last hope. And it is scary, especially after ignoring _him_ all this time when he has been nothing but wonderful. I call him. There’s no answer. Nada. I type a message and send it directly to his phone’s inbox – not his instagram’s. I stay still then I become aware of my backpack and its contents which are enough to permit me of a leave–of a getaway.

I may not be sure of the history of my family’s road to ruins, but I am sure of one thing: I am not going home. I am leaving in any way possible.

So I run, run and run to fade away. Hence begins my race for a possible sense of salvation or forgiveness.

The map is missing the thumbtack removed from it, waiting for it to come back before the wind blows it away. There is a hole left, and the thumbtack can either fill it or make a new one, as long as it’s not yet too late. This is the part where the map won’t give a damn about holes anymore. Because all that matters is to have something to make it stay.

Everyone is a map to himself, and everyone is also a thumbtack to others. I am the map full of holes. I am the map you won’t pick up to guide you. I am the map you lay on a table and leave it there until you lose it.

I am the map that you might consider throwing away.


	26. Chapter 26

Do you know what it is like to be that weird and lonely girl in the room who is just sitting by herself at a messy table while looking like life has finally fucked her up? Well, I clearly know that now.

With eyes that are begging for rest because of crying, lips that are too dry from silence, hair that is messy from all the running that I did, and a bag that gives the sign of a runaway, I am an obvious target for judgments. My way of sitting on the chair does not do me any favor of being spared of other people’s glances. I am sitting with my knees pulled up to my chest, eyes searching the room for hope.

It has been hours since I arrived here. Still, nobody is coming back. Nobody is searching for me. _I am still alone._ How did it end up like this?

_“Austra, has it ever occurred to you that you might be misjudging your mother?”_

I grit my teeth, clench my fists. But then everything inside me immediately loosens when I see _him_ in line with people waiting to have their turn to place an order. He is wearing a navy blue sweater, yellowish white cargo pants, and a pair of baby blue sneakers with tiger stripe pattern A trace of impatience is evident on his face: furrowed brows, crinkled nose, arched lips. He stands on his toes from time to time just to see if the person by the counter is about to get finished. It is actually a cute sight since he happens to be between people taller than him.

All I really sent him is a message asking him to buy me some chicken nuggets from this branch of McDonald’s. Hours later, here we are in this place of red and white. He did not reply to me at all, but I am guessing that he might be here because of me for me; so I stand up and take my bag then walk to where he is. Before I can even surprise him, I have already been noticed.

He has nothing to say but a clue of disbelief. “What are you doing here? Shit.” He runs his hand through his hair. “I was just about to buy them and–“

“You don’t have to,” I tell him. “I just had to have an excuse to see you. Worth the wait, I guess.”

He freezes until he regains composure. “So, the nuggets, I…” he trails off, his face as red as a tomato.

“You don’t have to buy anything for me.”

“Oh,” he looks around then steps away from the line he is in. “No use in falling in line then.” He stares at my face and studies me. “What the hell happened to you? You look like shit.”

“I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Then why did you want to see me?”

“I have nowhere else to go.”

He raises his eyebrow. He is confused yet he looks angry. His face intensifies every expression he makes which can be a bit intimidating at times. This is one of those times.

“I was hoping you’d let me stay for the night. Just this once. I’ll figure things out and I’ll be gone by tomorrow. I promise.” Shame throws its claws at me. I am wounded, bleeding with guilt. I am in front of the person I avoided, but here I am asking for his help.

“Figure out things for what?”

“I’ll tell you later. But first, let’s get out of here.”

The people around us are making me feel uncomfortable. Not because they are eavesdropping or anything, but because I am afraid that Mom, Leslie or Dad may be one of them. What if I see them now? It will just kill me all over again.

My bag is by my feet; and I refuse to look Yuri in the eye.

We are inside Nikolai’s car, but he is not around. Yuri is by the driver’s seat, his hands on the stirring wheel. Perhaps he came here all by himself. Another discovery to note about the angel: _he can drive a car._

I am very aware of his breathing. Although he is not the target of my gaze, I can see from the corner of my eye the ups and downs of his heaving chest. I almost want to listen to him breathe because it is so calming even if this is not the time that I should be at peace because I am about to throw him a question–a question that will reveal his current thoughts about me: “Why aren’t you mad?”

“I _am_ mad. Can’t you tell with the delay? Do you think that I didn’t try to stop myself from going here?” He shifts in his seat. “Who wouldn’t get mad with someone who avoided you when you didn’t do anything wrong?”

“Yeah,” I surrender, admitting my fault. 

“And now you’re here with nowhere to stay and–“

“I’m running away.” Yuri shuts up. I can tell that he has focused his eyes on me. “I can’t be there anymore, Yuri,” I tell him. The tears are back. I really hate crying. Sometimes I can’t help but feel like Yuri might be starting to think that all my crying is just an act so he could pity me.

“I just can’t… Everything that I planned for getting away from this place… Everything I gave up… Nothing. They were all for nothing,” I stamp my right foot and now I am breaking down. Tears on my cheeks, air difficult to breathe. I am choking because of everything I feel.

“It just doesn’t make sense. I trusted him too much. I relied on him too much. In the end, I shouldn’t have. I dreamt of leaving, yet I am still here. I gave myself limitations in order for me to be able to leave without any hard feelings. Yet… I can’t take it anymore. I wasted my life on a lie. There is nothing for me anywhere. I just–“ I am interrupted by Yuri’s warm embrace. He has moved from his seat just to reach me and wrap me in his arms. I no longer hold unto my pride and just give in, accepting his comfort. Sobs escape from me while Yuri moves his right hand just to brush my hair with his fingertips.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Yuri. I’m so, so sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I’m sorry.” My apology is a plea begging to be considered for forgiveness.

“It’s alright. You’re alright,” he coaxes into my ear.

His arms wrap themselves around me even more tightly than before. I hear him takefrom and give to the air as his face is right next to mine. I let him cover me in his arms, in his shadow–like a blanket I want to feel safe with.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him one last time.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says it like it’s nothing.

“You know, you’re really nice,” I try to lighten up the mood, hoping he’d let me.

I hear him snort. “Are you done crying? Because I don’t think you deserve my comfort at all.” _Yes, Yuri. I don’t deserve it because you deserve a better friend. I’ve been nothing but a puzzle or a problem._

This time, I’m the one who tightens the embrace. “You know you missed me,” I tease.

“That’s it,” he releases me, and I do the same, “I can’t take it anymore. I definitely deserve a better hug. Yours is an insult.” He starts the car. His hands are back on the steering wheel. Yet he is still looking at me.

And just like that, we are back to exchanging banters: Grumpy, stupid; jerk, idiot; asshole, crybaby; emo blondie, zombie face. He is an odd angel, and I am the naive sinner.

“How’s your cat, by the way?”

“Potya’s still adorable unlike the shithead next to me.” He smirks though concentrating on the road. Albeit my eyes are even more tired and I look like I caught a flu, I am calm now. It is almost like my heart is in the eye of the storm. I am sure that my problems are not over yet, but even so, I am unexpectedly retrieved from my sadness.

“Will Nikolai hate me and think that I’m just using you?”

“He won’t. He’s the one who told me to do you your favor no matter how late I am. Gramps is a really nice guy.”

“Just like you,” I tell him, and I really mean it because Yuri has been a wonderful person to me.

“Shut the hell up.”


	27. Chapter 27

We are standing in front of the door that may or may not welcome me once I ask my request. As we wait for Nikolai to open it for us, worry threatens me. What if he won’t allow me to spend the night here? What if I can’t go back? What if nobody realizes I’m gone?

“You nervous?” Yuri asks me as I notice him shove his hands somewhere right in front of his stomach, only to realize that he is only wearing a sweater. He must be so used to wearing jackets with pockets.

“Air does not have pockets for you,” I tell him this instead of the answer to his question. I am pretty sure that he is aware of how I feel right now. After all, who wouldn’t be nervous if you were about to ask someone to let you stay in their home for a night?

I cracked a joke when nobody felt like laughing.

The door creaks open and shows us a familiar someone. Nikolai recognizes us and smiles. He tells us to go inside, so we do. I stop by the door, not wanting to feel more welcomed than the people who actually live here. Yuri notices me. He looks at Nikolai and says something. I am told to wait for a while, and they go to the kitchen and discuss something that I should be telling his grandfather.

My heart is pounding while I hear their voices change their loudness from time to time. I cannot tell if they are arguing. I cannot tell if they are talking to each other calmly. But what I do know is that I should be the one talking to Nikolai.

As I stay still and wait for the both of them, I cannot help but feel like I am ruining someone else’s family. In my mind, my present rewinds back to my childhood. Leslie runs in circles around me, a young me chases her while Mom and Dad are by the door, talking, arguing. Time moves past that and goes back to when we were all watching television. As we remain seated, we grow older. Then Time goes fast forward into the Moment. Mom is leaving with Leslie, and Dad and I are just there. The Day arrives. Mom surprises me, spends some time with me while I wait for her to mention Leslie. Instead, she takes my hand, pulls me with her and forces me to abandon Dad.

“Austra,” Nikolai says my name, and it snaps me out of my little bubble of memories. “This will only be for tonight, understand? By tomorrow, I want you to go back to your parents.”

“You can use my room. I’ll just sleep on the sofa,” he finishes. Although he does not look like it, he is giving me the kind of look that says that I must go back to _them_ tomorrow or else he will force me to.

“Yes, thank you,” I tell him.

“Gramps, let Austra take my room. You should sleep in your own room because you have a bad back. I’ll sleep on the sofa instead.” Nikolai throws a glance at Yuri and they stare at each other for a while before Nikolai sighs and agrees.

“Sorry if my room is mess.”

“It’s fine.”

Yuri opens the door to his room and his cat surprises us. His attention wavers between me and the cat.

“Hi, Potya,” he says.

I put my bag on the bed, then look around me. On the floor is a black jacket with a lion image. On his desk is a white shirt. His desk lamp is left turned on. Besides that, the desk is pretty neat. His shoes are lined up on one side of the room. And, surprisingly, they are clean.

“Are you sure it’s alright for me to stay here? I can sleep on the sofa, you know.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” he tells me. “You can sleep here. Just don’t look at my stuff or I’ll surely kick your ass.”

“I’m not into looking at other people’s stuff,” I tell him even if a small part of me is dead curious about him. A simple sight-seeing is enough, no need to search for some treasure. “Hey, Yuri, Nikolai isn’t mad, is he?”

“He’s not. He just thinks that you should be with your family instead rather than here. That’s why he wants you to go back tomorrow.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“I’ll come with you if you want me to. If it’ll help.”

Awkward silence walks in and turns both of us speechless. Yuri looks at Potya.“I’ll be taking Potya with me,” he says, ready to leave.

“Wait, Yuri, before you go…”

I stop him, grabbing his hand then wrapping my arms around him. “Thank you so, so much,” I say.

The scene after that turns into all kinds of awkward. Both of us are too dumb, at the current moment, to realize and say anything. Just as I am about to let go, he returns the hug. I am just about to push myself away from him while he is just about to pull me. We both stop, and we end up with a guy whose hands are around a girl’s waist, and the girl is frozen from pulling away. Yuri and I stare at each other with blank expressions. Then his face immediately turns red. He is still holding me. He blinks. I feel my cheeks get hot, and I can almost hear my heart beat.

“Um, Yuri?” My voice wavers.

“Shit,” he says, snapping out of it and letting go. “Shit, shit, shit.”

“That was nothing. That was nothing. I thought- I-“ he runs his fingers through his hair. He paces around. Potya watches him.

“Crap, I- You don’t do that!” He is not shouting, but his voice is loud. He looks so bothered and restless in just a blink of an eye. “You don’t just hug someone out of the blue and-“

“Yuri, calm down,” I tell him even though my insides are not even calm. My stomach might have had exploded already and let the butterflies inside me free. My heart is tickled, and it is laughing.

“How can I calm down? Shit. That was fucking embarrassing. Shit.”

He notices Potya. He kneels on the floor, pets Potya, takes the cat in his arms, carries the cat, then looks at me.

“It’s not. It’s- I mean, yeah, it was pretty embarrassing, but-“

“Do not speak about this to anyone else, you hear me?” he says it like it is a threat, but it is not. It is just his embarrassment bluffing. And somehow, I am loving every second of this.

“I should leave now,” he says, “Don’t tell this to anyone, alright?”

Then he takes his leave. Somehow, I can’t help but feel so sorry for his parents. They do not know how adorable, kind and precious their son is. Their son is not the kind of person who deserves to be left. He is the kind of person who deserves others to stay for and/or because of him.

I sit on the bed, think of Mom and all the times I was cruel to her. Especially when I witnessed her cry and did not do anything at all. All this time, I have been hating the wrong person. All this time, I did nothing but hate and plan. Mom deserves better.

I take my bag, leave the room, head to where Yuri is. I see both Yuri and Nikolai sitting on the couch.

“I’m sorry. I think I should go back,” I tell them. Nikolai smiles at me like he’s glad that I thought so.

“I’ll take a cab.“ “I’ll take the car.”

“It’ll be better if I drop you there since it’s already late, but if you don’t want me to, I won’t.” He searches his pockets and takes the keys out.

“Sure. It’s fine.” I definitely owe Yuri one.

“Austra, take care of yourself. Whatever is going on with your family, you can get over it,” he says. “If things don’t turn out okay, we’ll try and help whichever way we can. I’ll be willing to adopt you, but I don’t think Yuri will be able to handle that, however,” he kids. Yuri’s face turns red again.

“Gramps!”

“You know, you really can’t make your mind up,” Yuri says as he starts the engine.

“I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for. You did nothing wrong.”

He grabs the steering wheel. The car dances while we dance inside it.

“Yuri, can we go somewhere else first?”

“Where?”

He takes a look behind us then puts it on reverse just so we can get out of the garage.

“Anywhere. Just have a little side trip. Even just a simple late night driving is enough. I have to get my mind straight first. I just need to unwind. Please.”

He returns his gaze back to what’s ahead of us. Now, we are facing the street. Nikolai closes the garage. Yuri looks at me then opens the glove compartment. He retrieves a wire with an audio plug. He plugs one side of it to the car stereo then hands the other side to me.

“As long as you provide the music, sure.”

I search for my phone then plug it for the audio input.

“I’m sorry if I’m asking for too much today,” I say as I search for the first song to play. My playlist is not exactly that great. Usually, I just listen to songs that sound like I am running away from everything. I don’t think Yuri might like them. A part of me wants to impress him, but I have nothing to use as bait.

“It’s fine. Not a big deal,” he says, unaware of my problem.

“I hope it’s not because of what happened inside your bedroom.”

“Don’t say it like that! Don’t talk about it!” I am taken by surprise while Yuri looks so uneasy and nervous and shy. “Just drop it.”

“Okay. Okay. I will,” I tell him as I tap on the “Shuffle” option on my phone’s playlist. Sound fills the air, and the first song to play is The Fray’s Vienna. In an instant, I become full of feelings towards my memories and the boy beside me as I feel like fading away.


	28. Chapter 28

“No offense, but your taste in music is…”

“Bad?”

“Too exclusive.”

Yuri is adjusting the volume of the stereo as we wait for the stoplight to allow us to continue traveling to nowhere in particular. I watch him as he distracts himself. The stars are shining in the night sky, like glitters scattered all over black paper, but the man beside me can easily outshine anything at all. As long as I’m the one looking at him.

“Don’t you listen to Russian songs?” he asks after finally having decided how loud the music should be. He immediately looks at me.

“I have heard a few, but I just thought that I shouldn’t even bother since I’d be getting away from this place. It turns out that I _won’t_ be _,_ ” I confess, swallowing my pride that proved me to have such a shallow mind. I have been so hesitant of Russia and its wonders to even let myself consider blending in with the culture or people.

“Wow. You really are a dimwit. Almost racist.”

“I’m not racist.”

“I said _almost_. You may not know it, but your decisions can convince others otherwise. It’s a good thing nobody can hear your thoughts. I’d be damned if I could.”

Green light flashes. The car is now allowed to skate on the ground. Eyes are focused on the road.

“It’s amazing how you can be surprisingly kind to me then go back to being mean.”

“It helps me distract you,” he says this like it’s a joke even if it is the truth–even if he is unaware of its impact on me–of _his_ impact on me. “Besides being picky with songs, care to surprise me with who your favorite artist is? Band?”

If you look at the guy beside me and guess if he listens to bands, I will not even wonder why since he gives off that vibe. He is like this punk who just happens to be fond of cats. With the way he dresses and the way he looks at people even without actually being angry, you might not even think of whether or not he is kind behind all those layers of teen angst.

“Ed Sheeran.”

“Name me a song of his.”

“Sunburn.”

“I don’t know that.”

“The A Team.”

“I don’t remember.”

I let out a loud sigh because I am about to say the title of the song that has made me consider leaving Ed Sheeran’s music alone for some time. It is not because he became different due to it. It is just because it became so overrated. “Thinking Out Loud.”

“I don’t know–“

“Are you serious? It’s Thinking Out Loud. _The_ Thinking Out Loud.”

“Nope. Not really. I don’t really remember it that much. Can you play it for me?”

“I had it deleted.”

“Do you remember the lyrics?”

“I’m not gonna sing.”

“I’m not telling you to.”

Again, for the nth time, butterflies are flying around in my stomach. I am tickled by them. How can they still exist when they should have died already? My stomach should not be a butterfly-making machine that keeps on producing butterflies every time Yuri does something. And if it were such, those butterflies should die because of all the acids inside.

It is weird how torn you can be between what is figurative and what is literal just because of someone’s effect on you.

I think of the song’s lyrics like they’re a group of toys I can choose from. Although my companion has only asked me to recall any part of the lyrics, I carefully choose which part I should say. I should not even choose at all. I can just start from the beginning. But somehow, I am too distracted to even consider that. When you can’t choose, just use the chorus.

“Take me into your loving arms. Kiss me under the light of a thousand stars. Place your head on my beating heart.”

“So romantic,” he teases. You can almost mistake him for the Cheshire Cat because of his grin. “How corny.”

“Shut up. I know. I love Ed and his music, but that song is an exception. The song is just too cheesy. He has other better songs.”

“Who else do you love?” he asks this so carelessly like he hadn’t given the words any second thoughts. It makes my stomach flip over, and my heart ready for battle. I compose myself, hoping that nothing that is happening inside me is obvious.

“Mostly I just listen to songs that sound like I am leaving. Like this one.” I change the music to Attic Abasement’s Australia which is one of my personal favorites.

The song starts with a nostalgic introduction of the sound of strings. Yuri is listening intently; I can tell because I have been staring. Once he hears the voice of the singer, he becomes surprised.

_‘I~ can’t think with my dick.’_

“Did he just say “dick”? He sounds like he’s drunk.”

“But listen to him. The words are raw.”

“Yeah. Dick is so raw.” When he says this, surprise clings to his face again. “Shit.”

“What are you getting worked up for? We’re no longer kids to even think of it as a sin to mention body parts,” I tell him.

“Still.”

_‘How do I know that I’m alive?’_

“This song makes me think that I haven’t done anything fulfilling yet,” Yuri comments, “It makes me wanna kill myself.”

“It makes me feel like I’m far away from everything.”

The next song that comes up is Sarah Jaffe’s Clementine which I downloaded mainly because it reminded me of my friend. Remembering Clementine, I am reminded of my situation right now and how I was so selfish. I take a deep breath, and begin my fake therapy session with Yuri. Somehow, he makes me honest–or _want_ to be honest.

“You know, my life has been nothing but a lie. I’ve been so focused on thinking about running away that I wasted so much time for myself.” Tears. Again. Disgusting tears. I am such a crybaby. I hate it. My tears can create an ocean. I’ve cried so much.

“Just imagine it. I thought too much of my future. Of being gone from here. I even refrained myself from having friends because I thought that I wouldn’t stay – that Dad would help me move away from here. But look, I’m still here. I… I…” My voice is wavering, and Yuri is quiet, still listening. Little hiccups because of crying are heard. So are gulps and the sounds for difficulty of breathing.

“I dreamed so much. I was so ambitious, but I never tried to know _anything_. I hated Mom so much, that I did not even try to know the truth from her. I am so _pathetic_.” The word reminds me of the time my mother crumpled the brochures right in front of me. It was also the time Leslie said I looked pathetic. I felt so alone in everything, but I never realized that I was the one making myself more and more alone.

“I feel so sorry for my mother because of how I treated her. When she cried in front of me, I just fucking pretended that I didn’t care. I hate myself. And Dad. Dad’s getting married. He- How can he do that?” My heart is aching with every last bit of ache that I haven’t felt yet. The sadness is crushing me.

How I Felt About Most Things by American Poetry Club plays next, and it does nothing to cheer me up.

“I wasted so much of my time for nothing at all. I didn’t care about others. I didn’t bother to do anything for others. I kept everything to myself because I thought– I thought that I’d be able to leave this place. And you, I pushed you away for so many times yet I didn’t really want to. I restrained myself from doing so many things because I didn’t want memories or attachments. I never thought that I’m gonna stay or that I’m gonna need them. I’m just… It’s unfair.

“How can other girls live their lives so freely while I’m over here with a shitty life? I can’t have a proper relationship with my parents. I can’t even experience being close to my sister. And you know what hurts the most? It’s realizing that I’m actually the problem. I pushed them all away and became too focused on one thing and that thing alone. I never really tried.”

Before I even know it, Yuri has parked the car and I am wrapped in his arms. This time, I feel so cold, like I am watching myself from somewhere far away–like I am a ghost seeing my corpse for the last time. At the same time, I feel the warmth of him. His presence, his arms, his comfort, his care, his protection. Even though I feel like I’m floating in the sky, I feel secure.

“I’m sorry, Yuri. I’m just…” I trail off, running out of breath. I take deep breaths before whispering my apology. The tears are nonstop. The ache is nonstop. Yuri tightens his embrace.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell him.

“I told you that it’s fine, haven’t I?” he says as he brushes my hair with his fingertips, and it calms me down. “It’s alright.” He kisses my forehead, and continues to brush my hair like I am a little girl again. He is so sweet during times like this, like he will never ever let me go unless I am finally okay.

I do not regret coming back to him and asking him for help; but I hope that he doesn’t regret accepting and helping me again.

Most especially, I do not regret liking him.

The next song that plays is I Was All Over Her by Salvia Palth – another one of my favorites. And it just waters all the flowers growing inside me.

I want Yuri to kiss my forehead again because it is so calming and it makes me feel so warm and gushy inside. If I ever have a family in the future, I hope I can be with someone who can make me feel like I’m protected by an army when in reality I am just around someone–or I’m just in his arms, breathing him in until I get enough of his scent. If that ever happens, I hope my relationship with that person won’t be like my parents’ relationship with each other. But I do hope that I’ll be like Mom in some way. I can’t imagine how much she suffered trying to keep up with me while I shut myself out from them. I want her patience and understanding. Most of all, I want her forgiveness.

Once Yuri has finally realized that I have finally calmed down, he releases me.

“Do you think she’ll forgive me?” I ask him, nervous of his answer.

“Of course. She won’t be able to stand you. Even _I_ can’t,” he says.

Paramore’s The Only Exception follows after the previous song, and Yuri gives a sigh of relief. “Finally, a normal song.”

“What do you mean?”

“Since the start of the ride, the songs have been too depressing. And I do not know any of them. Except for this one. This became famous back then, so I know.”

“Not that. What do you mean that you can’t stand me?”

“You’re frustrating, annoying, complicated. But you’re fun to be with. Somehow. I think.”

“You like me.” It is just a guess but it has slipped out of my lips.

And him, just the same, says, “I do.”

“I like you, too,” I tell him. And I can’t tell if he is blushing since it is dark. But his face is drawn with surprise and joy and a bit of a touch of embarrassment.

“Let’s just drive you home,” he says, as he starts the car again.

I watch him, not getting tired of his face or the way he moves. I watch him and feel like I made the right decision of trusting him. I watch him and feel so thankful. I almost think of him along the lines of The Only Exception. And as I do, I fall asleep, still feeling protected and blessed.

When Yuri and I finally arrive, he wakes me up. I stop the music and pull out the plug. Yuri and I stare at each other. I tell him that I am nervous. He tells me not to worry about it. I thank him, remember the chicken nuggets that I bought and give them to him. He hesitates at first but accepts them in the end. I smile at him, thank him again for everything. I secure my bag with me. I hug Yuri then kiss his cheek. I smile again, while he is dazed. He then starts saying, “What the hell did you just do?” When I’m about to do it again, he catches my lips instead. He kisses me gently, like a simple kiss can hurt me, so he is extra careful. He’s not forceful or even rough with it. When we stop, I give him a cheeky smile. He tells me to shut up. He looks away, embarrassed. I bid my goodbye. He does, too.

Before I leave him, I tell him a secret: “Lately, I’ve discovered that my favorite food is chicken nuggets.”

I almost catch a smile fight its way to his lips. He tells me to send him a text if I ever need someone to talk to.

Once I get inside, fear dresses itself with me. But when I open the door, Mom and Leslie look at me. Mom has bloodshot eyes while Leslie is running towards me. She pulls me inside, closes the door, hugs me. Just. Like. How. A. Sister. Would.

“Where have you been?” Mom asks, moving towards where we are, offering her arms to us.


	29. Chapter 29

Mom and Leslie are hugging me, and my chest feels heavy. Mom kisses me on my forehead and strokes my back. Leslie stands aside, watching us. “We were so worried,” she says. No jealousy, no envy, just genuine worry sketches itself on her face.

“I… I thought you wouldn’t notice or care.”

Mom’s eyebrows knit themselves together. “Why wouldn’t we?” Mom cups my face and asks. Her eyes show sincerity and worry. “Why do you think that?”

“I don’t know,” I look away.

“Austra, why did you leave?”

I expected this to be quite difficult for me to say, but instead, talking is suddenly easy – like this moment, this very moment, is for me to talk about _everything_. “I met with Dad,” my answer comes out as a whisper. Mom freezes, stares blankly at my face. Leslie stands in silence, both shocked and a little bit upset. _Why her,_ she is probably thinking.

“I-I wanted to go with him back home,” my voice cracks while Mom looks at me with even more worry. “I thought that he might take me with him, but he wouldn’t. In fact, I–“ I pause, not wanting to hurt my mother’s feelings. How can I tell her about it when it might break her heart?

“Dad’s engaged,” Leslie butts in then frowns. “We told you that.”

“You didn’t.”

“We did,” Mom says, frowning as well. “But you were so deep in your thoughts then.”

I am humiliated and embarrassed, sad and upset at the same time. My heart is heavy and threatens me of an explosion of emotions. Tears haunt my eyes again. Again! For the nth time! “But– I–“

“You thought I was the favorite, you thought Dad would take you with him, you thought, what, Aus? What did you think?” Leslie is concerned, but she is shooting me bullets of my stupidity. “Les. Nobody is anyone else’s favorite,” Mom tries to stop her from talking but Leslie refuses.

“Austra, has it ever occurred to you that you barely ask us _anything_? You busy yourself with your thoughts in isolation then suddenly hate people around you _without_ knowing anything at all. Don’t you think it’s unfair?” Leslie crosses her arms on her chest. Concern stays on her face.

Mom looks at me, “Is that true? Do you hate us?”

“I thought you didn’t care about me. You were always fine with what she wants,” I am crying now while expressing myself. My heart aches so badly. It hurts. “Leslie fights with me. I hated here. Dad kept in touch so I thought… I thought that he at least cared for me. That he could take me with him. But he said no. He said no,” my mother hugs me again, while Leslie tears up. “He could have talked to me instead,” she kids, but nobody laughs. Everyone is sobbing.

“I felt so alone here, like nobody would care if I’m gone. I barely have friends. You barely care about me–“

“Of course we care about you,” Mom interrupts, “But dear, you keep on shutting us out. We didn’t know how to approach you. You kept on pushing us away.”

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry, Leslie. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” I cry as my mother holds me dearly. I remember the time I pretended not to be affected when she was crying, and guilt strangles my conscience. I cry even more.


	30. Chapter 30

I take a deep breath – one that makes me seem like a diver facing the sea from a cliff I am about to dive from. My heart is throbbing in my chest. I hold unto my bag as I try my best to stay. Tons of ideas run through my mind. A blush has probably decorated my cheeks.

It has been days before our last meet, and nobody has said anything about _that_. I have apologised to my dad through our messenger, fixed things with Mom and Leslie, unpacked my stuff, but I have not yet discussed matters with Yuri.

“Hey,” a familiar voice greets me. I turn around and see Mila. “You here to see Yuri?” she asks. I nod. She gives me a mischievous smile. No matter how you look at her, she really is stunning. Her beauty can be quite intimidating.

“Oh, he’s gonna love _this_ ,” she tells me, patting me on my shoulder. “Want me to call him for you so he can hurry up? He’s done, anyway,” she gives me a wink. Just in time, Yuri shows up. His eyes go wide and his face red.

“Hey! Yuri! Your girlfriend is here!” she kids, yet the two of us, Yuri and I, are both embarrassed. “Cut it out,” Yuri snaps. Mila smiles like a Cheshire cat, raising her eyebrows at us, and takes her leave, saying, “I’m gonna leave you two alone now. Bye, love birds.”

“I’m gonna tell Otabek about you!” Yuri answers. “You old hag!”

Then silence swims around us for a moment before he acknowledges my presence. He scratches the back of his head, looks away and pouts like a little kid. “What is it?”

“I wanted to talk to you,” I confessed. “I brought chicken nuggets.”

“Chicken nuggets, huh?” he smirks, and my heart does a huge leap.

Yuri and I talk while heading out. I tell him about my family, about how I felt, about how I felt indebted to him, and about my gratitude for everything he’s done, as well as for everything Nikolai did. He comments on my stupidity and obliviousness. We laugh.

People pass by the two of us, yet it feels like we’re the only people in the world. I have always felt so alone, but right now, I feel so accompanied–cared for.

“Austra, by the way,” Yuri interrupts, “Do you, kind of, want to… Umm… Go and hang out sometime?”

“Are you asking me out?”

“No! Damn it. Forget about what I said,” he immediately retorts.

“Too bad. I wanted to say yes. I mean, we’ve been avoiding the topic lately,” I tell him, pretending like I have my cool when, in fact, I am losing my sanity deep inside.

“Yes? Are you sure? Wait, what topic?”

I kiss him by his right cheek and he freezes.

“I told you not to do that! It’s embarrassing and surprising!” he complains. His face drowns in the color red. He covers his face with his hands.

I laugh at him and realize how I’m awfully happy today. A huge burden has been removed from my shoulders since my confession with Mom and Leslie. And now, I’m bubbly while being with the guy I like.

“You’re stupid,” he tells me.

“And you’re rude,” I smile at him.

A pause. An idea pops up.

I look at him. He looks at me.

“Do you wanna go with me?”

He raises an eyebrow.

“Where?”

I giggle.

“Home,” I say.

This time, I will properly welcome him and introduce him to Mom and Leslie like we’ve always been a good family even if we are just beginning.

And this time, I forgive.


End file.
